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LITTLE    PILGRIMAGES  AMONG 
FRENCH    INNS 


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S^ttitB 

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Among  English  Inns 

By  Josephine  Tozibr 

$2.00 

Susan  in  Sicily      .... 

By   JOSBPHIKK  TOZIKR 

2.00 

Among  Bavarian  Inns    . 

By  Frank  Roy  Fraprib 

2.00 

The  Italian  Lakes 

By  W.  D.  McCrackam 

2.00 

The  Fair  Land  Tyrol    . 

By  W.  D.  McCrackan 

2.00 

Among  French  Inns 

By  Charles  Gibson 

2.00 

Among  Old  New  England  Inns     . 

By  Maky  Cakolink  Crawford 

2.00 

St.  Botolph's  Town  :  An  Account  of  Old 
Boston  in  G>lonial  Days     . 
*     By  Mary  Caroline  Crawford 

2.50 

The   Lands    of    the  Tamed   Turk; 
The  Balkan  States  of  To-day      . 
By  Blair  Jaekel 

Or. 

2.50 

Houseboating  on  a  G>lonial  Waterway    . 

By  Frank  and  Cortelle  Hutchins 

2.50 

From  Cairo  to  the  Cataract  . 

By  Blanche  M.  Carson 

• 

2.50 

The  Spell  of  Italy 

By  Caroline  Atwatek  Mason 

• 

2.50 

The  Spell  of  Holland   .         . 

By  Burton   E.  Stevenson 

• 

2.50 

Abroad  with  the   Fletchers     . 

By  Jane  Fhlton  Sampson 

2.00 

L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

53  Beacon  Street,                        Boston, 

Ma<8. 

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LITTLE   PILGRIMAGES 

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THE     STORY    OF    A    PILGRIM- 

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AGE     TO     CHARACTERISTIC 

* 
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SPOTS      OF      RURAL     FRANCE 

BY 

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Cbarlea  (Bibaon 

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ILLUSTRATED 

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Xj^X 

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BOSTON     »     »     »     $     » 

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X.  C.  paoe  &  Company 

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*     *     ♦     »     PUBLISHERS 

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Copyright,  igos 
By  L.  C.  Page  &  Company 

(incorporated) 


All  rights  reserved 


Third  •liiipf8ssion,'.0ctt)b,et,  ?9^7 
Fourth  Impression/Oc'tober,  191 1 


Electrotyped  and  Printed  by 
THE  COLONIAL  PRESS 
C.  H.  Simonds  &=  Co.,  Boston,  U.S.A. 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

My  acknowledgments  are  due  to  the  pro- 
prietors of  the  inns,  as  well  as  to  Mrs. 
Charles  H.  Paine,  through  whose  assistance 
I  have  been  enabled  to  obtain  many  of  the 
views  from  which  the  illustrations  in  this 
volume  have  been  taken. 


270624 


PREFACE 

This  volume  is  the  outcome  of  several  sum- 
mers, or  portions  thereof,  that  have  been 
spent  in  picturesque  pahs  of  France.  An 
extended  stay  has  permitted  me  to  examine 
into  some  of  the  history  and  legends  of  this 
delightful  country,  to  obtain  some  experience 
of  the  character  of  its  inns,  and  to  acquire  — 
I  trust  —  something  of  its  atmosphere. 

A  number  of  notes  were  taken  on  the  spot, 
and  these  have  been  allowed  to  mellow  in  the 
memory,  so  that  in  writing  of  them  there  is 
a  touch  of  reminiscence  which  may  not  per- 
haps be  out  of  place  in  a  volume  of  this  sort. 
I  desire  to  state  that  this  pilgrimage  is 
Among  French  Inns,  not  one  made  to  them 
exclusively.  Advantage  has  been  taken  of 
this  fact  to  deal  rather  broadly  with  the 
places  visited  in  the  present  narrative. 

"But  is  it  a  narrative?"  some  one  may 
ask,  and  perhaps  rightly.  All  it  attempts  to 
be  is  a  form  of  history,  purporting  to  be  that 
of  an  excursion  made  by  a  number  of  types 


Preface 

of  character  that  are  frequently  to  be  met 
with  when  travelling  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Atlantic  Ocean.  If  any  readers  of  the 
doings  or  sayings  of  the  characters  in  this 
book  should  claim  a  resemblance  to  them- 
selves, they  are  undoubtedly  wrong.  No 
such  resemblance  exists;  none  could  exist; 
none  was  ever  intended  to  exist!  The  char- 
acters of  the  story  that  is  woven  into  the 
pages  of  these  travels  are  not  individual 
portraits.  They  are  only  attempted  repro- 
ductions of  types,  at  once  amusing  in  real 
life,  and  food  for  contemplation  and  thought. 
I  would  counsel  my  friends  to  look  for  them 
when  they  travel  in  these  regions,  for  they 
add  greatly  to  the  pleasure  of  the  trip. 

To  those  who  are  led  to  make  a  pilgrimage 
Among  French  Inns,  we  would  say  a  word  or 
two  in  regard  to  the  practical  side  of  so  poeti- 
cal a  trip.  If  these  inns  are,  in  certain  rural 
districts,  more  primitive  than  those  of  Eng- 
land, they  are  never  without  good  cheer  in 
the  way  of  food  and  drink.  The  cuisine  in 
France  is  different  altogether  from  the  cui- 
sine in  England  —  as  different  as  can  be. 
Each  has  its  good  points;  but  in  the  cuisine 
of  the  Frenchman  there  is  a  subtle  art  which 
nothing  can  take  from  him. 


Preface 

In  the  bedrooms,  feather  beds  abound; 
linen  sheets,  windows  that  open  sidewise,  and 
let  in  draughts  in  cold  weather.  Go  to  the 
inns  in  summer  or  spring,  rather  than  in  win- 
ter. The  rates  are  not  expensive,  and  the  *'  ex- 
tras "  less  abundant  than  in  the  larger  hotels. 
The  early  breakfast  of  coffee  and  rolls  is, 
let  us  say,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  a  franc, 
about  twenty  cents  in  American  money. 
The  dejeuner,  or  luncheon,  from  eleven  until 
one-thirty,  table  d'hote,  is  from  two  to  three 
francs.    Dinner  is  in  proportion. 

For  those  who  do  not  wish  to  make  an  ex- 
pensive trip,  the  second  class,  in  travelling, 
is  preferable.  Third  class,  as  a  rule,  is  to 
be  avoided  in  the  country  districts.  To  those 
who  are  fond  of  scenery,  the  railway  journeys, 
especially  in  Normandy,  will  be  a  source  of 
unmitigated  pleasure  and  delight.  I  have 
attempted  to  give  a  slight  idea  of  this  in 
these  pages,  with  how  unworthy  a  pen  I 
myself  am  only  too  well  aware. 

There  will  be  little  use  in  expecting  the 
coachmen  of  the  public  carriages  to  be  polite. 
They  rarely  if  ever  are.  They  bully  and 
cheat  the  unwary  traveller  whenever  occa- 
sion crops  up.  Still,  they  are  so  funny; 
every  one  is  so  funny;    there  is  so  much  real 


Preface 

mirth  in  the  study  of  character  alone,  that 
if  we  take  most  of  the  people  we  meet  in  a 
spirit  of  good  humour,  we  shall  find  our- 
selves growing  fat  from  laughter. 

It  is  important  to  treat  the  French  with 
a  great  deal  of  politeness.  They  are  a  po- 
lite race,  and  deal  in  a  multitude  of  manners. 
Receiving  these  themselves,  they  look  for 
them  in  strangers,  and  are  susceptible  to  kind- 
ness and  good  nature.  They  may  be  violent, 
if  they  are  offended  ever  so  little,  but  are 
capable  of  making  themselves  entertaining 
and  charming. 

To  those  who  love  it,  life  in  France  may  be 
a  perpetual  dream  of  enchantment.  There  is 
a  sense  of  art  everywhere,  rarely  to  be  met 
with  except  in  Italy.  Every  Frenchman  is 
an  artist,  and  every  place  he  enters,  he  makes 
his  studio.  It  is  surprising  to  see  in  the 
simplest,  the  most  uneducated  peasant,  a 
knowledge  and  a  sense  of  art  or  historical 
research,  unheard  of  in  our  own  country,  or 
even  in  England. 

In  short,  France  is  France.  Nobody  can 
properly  describe  it  to  you  if  you  have  not 
been  there.  You  must  go  and  see  it,  and  en- 
joy it  for  yourself.  That  you  may  enjoy  it, 
and  that  you  may  patronize  the  inns,  with 


Preface 

as  pleasant  an  experience  as  my  own,  I  sin- 
cerely trust.  And  if  the  descriptions  in  this 
humble  volume  find  favour  in  your  eyes, 
I  shall  be  more  than  gratified,  and  feel  well 
repaid  for  having  written  it.  Should  you  do 
this,  and  become  a  pilgrim  to  the  rural 
haunts  of  France,  we  may  then  accompany 
one  another  in  the  appreciation  of  a  common 
joy. 

Charles  Gibson. 

9  Charles  Street,  Boston,  igos- 


INTRODUCTION 

As  we  look  upon  the  map  of  Normandy, 
the  most  northwesterly  province  of  France, 
we  may  see  that  it  is  divided  into  five  De- 
partments. Each  of  these  Departments  has 
its  own  distinctive  capital  and  its  characteris- 
tic life,  dividing  this  beautiful  portion  of 
France,  as  it  were,  into  so  many  counties, 
small  in  area  and  yet  large  in  the  part  which 
they  have  played  in  the  early  history  of 
France,  and  the  influence  which  they  have 
exerted  upon  the  world  at  large. 

To  the  northeast  is  the  Department  of 
Seine  Inferieure,  which  is  perhaps  the  rich- 
est, in  its  wealth  of  cities  and  its  artistic  and 
historic  treasures.  In  the  centre  of  its  north- 
ern coast  is  the  -town  of  Dieppe,  which  was  at 
one  time  so  favourite  a  watering-place  for  the 
French  and  English,  but  which  is  now,  like 
Calais  and  Boulogne,  one  of  the  principal 
Channel  ports.  In  the  extreme  southwestern 
corner   of    the    Department   is    the    city   of 

xiii 


Introduction 

Havre,  the  port  of  Paris  and  the  most  impor- 
tant town  upon  the  coast.  South  of  Dieppe, 
and  beautifully  situated  on  the  banks  of  the 
Seine,  is  the  city  of  Rouen,  the  capital  of 
Normandy,  and  in  many  senses  its  most  im- 
portant town. 

South  of  Seine  Inferieure  is  the  Department 
of  Eure,  whose  capital  and  principal  town 
is  that  of  Evreux.  West  of  Eure  is  the  De- 
partment of  Calvados,  which  occupies  the 
northern  central  portion  of  Normandy,  and 
whose  most  important  towns  are  Caen, 
Bayeux,  and  Palais^.  On  its  northern  coast 
are  also  situated  the  twin  towns  of  Trouville 
and  Deauville,  the  fashionable  rendezvous 
of  Prance  during  the  summer  season. 

Directly  south  of  Calvados  is  the  Depart- 
ment of  Orne,  whose  capital  is  Alengon,  and 
which  also  contains  the  interesting  town  of 
Argentan.  This  is  the  most  southern  part 
of  Normandy,  and  borders  upon  Brittany  and 
the  Department  of  La  Sarthe,  which  leads  in 
turn  into  Touraine,  and  is  the  gateway  to 
the  centre  of  Prance. 

On  the  west  coast  of  Normandy  is  the 
Department  of  La  Manche,  which  extends 
over  its  entire  area  from  north  to  south;  it 
includes  the  important  seaport  town  of  Cher- 


Introduction 

bourg,  which  is  now  one  of  the  great  trans- 
atlantic terminals,  as  well  as  the  cathedral 
town  of  St.  Lo,  and  lastly,  the  little  town  of 
Avranches  and  the  town  of  Coutances. 
Avranches  is  built  upon  the  brow  of  a  steep 
hill,  overlooking  a  wonderful  view  of  the 
coast  of  Brittany  and  the  Mont  St.  Michel. 
Southeast  of  Cherbourg,  and  nearly  in  the 
centre  of  a  great  square  expanse  of  land,  ex- 
tending in  a  northwesterly  direction  into  the 
ocean,  is  the  town  of  Valognes,  and  in  the 
southern  portion  of  La  Manche  is  the  ancient 
town  of  Mortain. 

Such  is  the  general  geographical  aspect  of 
this  picturesque  province  of  France. 

Southwest  of  Normandy  lies  Brittany, 
which  is  as  distinctive  in  its  character  as 
the  former,  and  full  of  interest  to  the  trav- 
eller. It  is  bounded  by  the  English  Channel 
on  the  north,  and  stretches  to  the  most  western 
point  of  France.  The  most  westerly  town  of 
importance  is  Brest.  The  great  peninsula 
formed  by  this  province  is  like  a  gigantic 
finger  pointing  toward  the  ocean,  and  mark- 
ing it,  apart  from  the  rest  of  France.  It  is, 
therefore,  geographically  unique  in  this 
respect. 

Southeast    of    Brittany,    and    toward    the 


Introduction 

centre  of  France,  we  find  Touraine,  known  as 
the  garden  of  France,  and  including,  like  the 
other  provinces,  several  Departments.  To  the 
southeast  again  we  have  Provence,  reaching 
from  the  valley  of  the  Rhone  toward  North- 
ern Italy  and  the  Alps. 


s«l 


CONTENTS 


Introduction        ..... 
I.      At  the  Hotel  Frascati,  Havre 
II.      In  Search  of    an    Inn,  between  Havre   and 
Rouen      ...... 

III.  At  the   Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf,   Fecamp 

IV.  Caudebec   to  Rouen    .... 
V.      Rouen  .  ..... 

VI.      Among   the   Inns  of  Brittany 
VII.     At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf,  Les  Andelys 
VIII.     With  the  Duchess  at  Trouville 
IX.      In  and  Out   of  the  Department  of  Orne 
X.      At  the  Hotel  de  Guillaume  le  Conquerant 
Dives        ...... 

XI.      Among  the  Inns  of  Touraine 
XII.      In  Old  Provence         .... 

XIII.     At  the  Hotel  de  la  Foret,  Barbizon 
Index 


PAGB 

xiii 


?2 

82 
117 

140 
170 
194 
239 

275 

3*3 
336 

371 
389 
407 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


rAGK 


HdTEL  DU  Grand  Cerf,  Grand  Andely  {See  page 

IQQ) Frontispiece 

H6tel  Frascati,  Havre lo 

H6tel  de  Ville,  Havre 15 

General  View  of  Lillebonne  —  Remains  of  Old 
Roman  Theatre,  Lillebonne  —  Modern  Cha- 
teau and  Tower  of  Old  Castle,  Lillebonne  52 
Church  of  Notre  Dame,  Lillebonne     ...  54 

H6tel  Blanquet,  £tretat 76 

The  Beach,  £tretat 79 

H6tel  du  Grand  Cerf,  F6camp      ....  82 

Market- DAY,  Fecamp  ..;...  98 
Hotel  de  la  Marine,  Caudebec     .        .        .        .118 

Market-place,  Caudebec 130 

Apple -orchard,  near  Rouen 142 

Tour  de  la   Grosse -  Horloge,  Rouen  —The  Ca- 
thedral, Rouen 150 

coutances,  from  the  railway  .  .  .  .  i72 
Bay  of  Mont  St.  Michel,  from  Avranches  .  •174 
Hotel  Poulard,  Mont  St.  Michel  .  .  .178 
Chimneypiece,    Hotel    du    Grand    Cerf,    Grand 

Andely 200 

Chateau  Gaillard 206 

Dieppe  Cathedral 232 

Church  of  Notre  Dame,  Trouville       .        .        .  240 

A  Farm  near  Trouville 257 

H6tel  de  Ville,  Dreux 279 

xix 


List  of  Illustrations 


PAGB 

Chateau  de  Maintenon 280 

Fifteenth  Century  House,  Chartres    .        .        .  291 

Statue  of  William  the  Conqueror,  Falaise      .  318 

Hostellerie  de  Guillaume  le  ConqueranTj  Dives  324 

General  View  of  Saumur  —  H6tel  Budan,  Saumur  340 

H6tel  de  France,  Chinon 353 

Chateau  de  Luynes — Old  House,  Luynes   .        .  361 
Hotel  de  la  Promenade  and  Tour  St.  Antoine, 

LocHES 368 

Avignon        .                 384 

H6tel  de  la  Foret,  Barbizon         ....  390 


Among  French  Innj 

CHAPTER  I 

AT    THE    HOTEL    FRASCATI,  HAVRE 

It  was  with  but  a  general  idea  of  France, 
an  idea  rendered  somewhat  misty,  we  must 
own,  by  a  night  on  the  English  Channel,  that 
we  landed  one  morning  at  Havre,  with  the 
intention  of  spending  a  month  or  two  among 
the  picturesque  and  rural  haunts  of  this 
favoured  country.  Our  party  of  three  was 
composed  of  an  Englishman,  a  Frenchman, 
and  an  American,  the  latter  of  whom  had 
undertaken  the  duties  of  historian  to  the  ex- 
pedition. The  Frenchman  had  agreed  to 
be  the  guide,  and  the  Englishman  was  to 
content  himself  with  enjoying  the  scenery, 
eating  the  French  poulets  and  salads,  which 
were  sure  to  be  served  at  the  country  hotels 
and  inns,  and,  if  possible,  with  getting  a 
little  rest  and  relaxation,  after  the  London 
season. 


-       .' .  •     •  «>  i  «^  •    ' 

•  ,    '  ».«    1  \»  -J  .    . 

"  "      "    . .  \^pi(^^g  Prench  Inns 

It  was  the  fourteenth  of  July.  And  to 
those  who  have  ever  had  the  misfortune  to 
arrive  in  France  on  this  day  of  all  others 
to  avoid,  perhaps  we  may  not  look  in  vain 
for  sympathy.  It  is  the  date  of  the  great 
**  fete  de  la  Republique  Frangaise;  ^'  and 
even  if  one  is  an  enthusiastic  republican,  the 
day  is  at  best  a  trying  one  on  which  to  move 
about.  It  is  the  corresponding  celebration 
to  the  Fourth  of  July  in  America,  with  just 
a  touch  of  the  Frenchman's  enthusiasm 
thrown  in;  and  if  one  chances  to  be  a  for- 
eigner who  is  in  search  of  peace  and  quiet, 
the  arrival  is  something  of  a  shock. 

That  the  sailors  might  enjoy  the  holiday 
to  its  utmost,  the  boat  was  docked  and  the 
passengers  landed  at  five  A.  M.^  instead  of  the 
scheduled  time  of  seven-thirty.  The  miser- 
able travellers,  who  had  just  settled  them- 
selves for  a  short  nap,  after  tossing  about  on 
the  Channel  all  night,  are  bundled  out  on  to 
an  empty  quay,  bewildered  and  dazed,  and 
more  dead  than  alive.  The  lady  from  Lon- 
don, who  was  to  have  joined  her  husband 
there,  as  she  confidently  assured  us  the  night 
before,  finds  him  not,  and  is  left  in  a  tearful 
condition  on  the  dock,  consoling  herself  with 
a  cup  of  ** cafe  au  lait"  and  a  brioche.     An 

2 


At  the  Hotel  Frascati,  Havre 

elderly  dowager,  who  is  mercifully  travelling 
with  her  maid,  is  so  overcome  by  this  unex- 
pected arrival,  that  she  is  seized  with  an 
attack  of  asthma,  and  her  shortness  of  breath 
is  noticeable  for  some  distance  down  the  quay. 
At  last  her  maid  dives  into  the  depths  of  a 
travelling  dressing-case,  and  produces  a 
cigarette,  which  somewhat  relieves  the  suf- 
ferer, and  her  neighbours,  from  the  fear  lest 
she  strangle  to  death. 

What  a  change  from  the  arrival  in  Eng- 
land! To  one  unaccustomed  to  the  many 
charming  qualities  of  the  French  and  their 
natural  mannerisms,  the  first  impression  on 
landing  is  that  of  being  at  the  mercy  of  so 
many  lunatics.  Everybody  is  jumping  about, 
rushing  hither  and  thither,  throwing  their 
arms  wildly  in  the  air,  chattering,  quarrel- 
ling, hurrying,  apparently  getting  nowhere 
and  accomplishing  nothing.  The  neatness,  the 
order,  the  quiet  and  reserve,  which  we  left  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Channel,  has  entirely 
disappeared.  Here,  everything  is  just  the 
opposite.  The  buildings  are  dirty,  but  pic- 
turesque. The  disorder  is  complete  and 
apparent.  The  people  are  in  a  frenzy  of 
excitement  over  nothing  and  no  one,  from 
the  moment  we  first  set  foot  on  French  soil. 


Among  French  Inns 

And  yet  it  is  all  fascinating  and  attractive, 
full  of  life  and  animation,  and  stirring  even 
the  most  phlegmatic  to  a  smile,  or  a  frown. 
The  dirt  and  squalor  are  picturesque  and 
artistic;  the  whole  scene  is  changed,  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  as  we  step  off  the  boat. 
The  blue  sky  and  brilliant  sunshine,  whose 
cheerfulness  is  in  contrast  to  the  misty  atmos- 
phere of  London,  refreshes  and  invigorates, 
and  —  in  short,  it  is  France. 

'^  Vous  navez  rien  a  declarer,  monsieur?  '^ 
exclaims  a  voice  in  our  ears,  and  instantly 
innumerable  custom-house  officers  surround 
us  and  tear  open  our  luggage  in  a  ruthless 
manner.  The  Englishman's  leather  boxes, 
whose  neatness  would  never  have  been  dis- 
turbed in  Britain,  are  dragged  here  and 
there,  without  any  apparent  reason,  scratched 
and  dirtied,  so  that  even  his  calm  is  ruffled 
and  his  dignity  disturbed.  The  Frenchman's 
cases  being  of  light  wood,  tied  up  with  cords 
of  rope,  are  cut  open  somehow  or  other.  On 
the  whole,  the  American's  steamer-trunks 
fare  the  best  of  the  three,  being  designed  for 
heavy  travelling,  and  strongly  bound  with 
brass  and  iron. 

"  Nothing  to  declare,  messieurs?  " 
"Nothing;    absolutely  nothing." 
4. 


At  the  Hotel  Frascati,  Havre 

But  all  to  no  avail. 

*^  Allans,  gargonf  ^' 

And  there  being  no  hope  of  a  cab  at  this 
hour  in  the  morning,  we  end  by  walking  to 
the  hotel,  preceded  by  an  octogenarian  porter 
rolling  our  luggage  on  a  truck. 

"  But  what  hotel  shall  we  go  to?  " 

"The  Hotel  Frascati,  of  course,"  says  the 
Frenchman;  and  though  our  English  com- 
panion is  inclined  toward  the  D'Angleterre, 
and  the  American  toward  the  De  TEurope, 
we  give  way  to  the  superior  knowledge  of  the 
drum-major  of  the  party,  and  proceed  to 
the  best  hotel  in  Havre.  What  the  Adelphi 
is  to  Liverpool,  such  is  Frascati's  to  Havre, 
the  haven  of  the  transatlantic  travellers,  the 
delight  of  the  Americans,  and  the  embodi- 
ment of  all  that  is  comfortable  and  desirable. 

"  But  I  thought  this  excursion  was  to  be 
spent  among  French  inns,"  persisted  the 
Englishman,  with  that  dogged  love  of  con- 
sistency which  is  so  a  part  of  his  race. 

"To  be  sure,"  says  the  Frenchman;  "but 
let  us  indulge  ourselves  for  this  once  in  the 
best  that  the  town  affords.  We  shall  have 
plenty  of  opportunity  later  to  test  the  hos- 
pitality of  the  rural  hostelries.  Frascati's 
is  one  of  the  features  of  Havre,  and  its  pro- 

5 


Among  French  Inns 

prietor  has  at  least  an  innholder's  license; 
so  that  we  may  stretch  the  imagination  a 
little  and  enjoy  the  good  cooking  and  comfort 
of  the  place  for  a  day  or  two."  In  this 
way  the  momentous  question  was  settled, 
and  we  wandered  on  through  the  picturesque 
streets,  enjoying  our  first  morning  in  Norman 
surroundings. 

The  porter,  in  spite  of  his  burden,  was 
soon  making  himself  agreeable,  and  impart- 
ing information  to  the  party  in  general,  and 
the  Frenchman  in  particular. 

"  Oh,  yes,  this  is  the  '  fete  de  la  Repuh- 
lique'  messieurs.  Is  this  the  first  time  ces 
messieurs  have  seen  one?" 

Ces  messieurs,  at  least  two  of  them,  cer- 
tainly never  had  seen  a  ''  fete  de  la  Repub- 
lique  "  before;  and  for  the  moment,  perhaps, 
sincerely  wished  that  they  might  never  see 
one  again.  But  that  was  purely  from  motives 
of  personal  comfort,  and  nothing  to  do  with 
the  glory  of  France  and  her  republican  in- 
stitutions. The  porter,  however,  soon  devel- 
oped into  an  imperialist,  and  volunteered 
some  information  which  made  us  rather 
curious  as  to  his  early  history. 

"  Ah,  messieurs,"  said  the  old  fellow, 
pausing    in    the    middle    of    the    street    and 

6 


At  the  Hotel  Frascati,  Havre 

pushing  his  cap  over  his  left  eye,  "  this  is 
not  the  first  Republique  that  I  have  seen  in 
France.  I  saw  the  Republique  of  1848 
when  it  was  born  —  and  when  it  died,  too," 
and  he  gave  a  chuckle  to  himself,  as  much  as 
to  say  "  and  a  good  thing  it  was."  "  I  saw 
the  last  Empire  as  well,  messieurs,  the  one 
that  went  out  like  a  candle  in  1870.  Those 
were  great  days  at  the  Tuileries  and  Fon- 
tainebleau.  Oh,  those  were  the  days,"  and 
again  he  cocked  his  cap  still  further  over  his 
left  eye.  "  Many's  the  time  IVe  seen  the 
Emperor  drive  out  with  the  Empress,  and  she 
looking  as  beautiful  as  a  young  goddess. 
Fd  touch  my  hat  to  them,  and  they'd  bow 
in  return;  for  they  all  knew  me,  as  I  stood 
near  the  palace  gates  and  swept  the  walk. 
But  they're  gone  now,  and  nobody  thinks  of 
me.  But  if  they  ever  came  back  they'd  re- 
member me,  I  can  tell  you,"  and  the  old 
man  smiled  to  himself,  as  he  thought  of  the 
brilliant  days  that  were  gone. 

By  this  time  we  were  well  on  our  way 
toward  the  centre  of  the  town,  and  the  long 
rows  of  houses  and  buildings,  with  their 
white  stones,  blackened  with  age  and  dirt, 
and  their  iron  balconies,  were  following  one 
another    in    rapid    succession;     giving    way 

7 


Among  French  Inns 

here  and  there  to  a  public  square  or  a  civic 
building.  The  numberless  cafes,  with  their 
awnings,  and  their  rows  of  chairs  and  tables 
on  the  sidewalks,  were  just  coming  to  life; 
for  everything  is  early  in  France.  The 
patrons  of  the  establishments  were  bustling 
about  behind  their  long  glass  windows,  cov- 
ered with  signs  of  "  Byrrh,"  "  Bock,"  "  Res- 
taurant-Cafe," etc.  The  streets,  paved  largely 
with  rough,  flat  stones,  about  a  foot  square, 
were  anything  but  smooth  to  travel  over.  But 
the  general  attraction  of  this  strange  new 
life,  suddenly  appearing  out  of  the  summer 
morning  as  if  by  magic,  made  one  forget  the 
practical,  and  consider  the  whole  more  like 
a  scene  on  the  stage  than  reality. 

As  we  proceeded,  the  porter  continued  to 
regale  us  with  stories  of  King  Louis  Philippe 
and  Napoleon  III.,  interspersed  with  remi- 
niscences of  the  Empire,  which  entertained  us 
until  we  reached  the  hotel.  Trams  and  rail- 
way lines  frequently  crossed  our  path,  and 
added  to  the  general  appearances  of  business 
which  were  ever5rwhere  predominant.  For 
Havre  is  to-day  a  city  of  industry  and  com- 
merce, and  its  riches  lie  in  these  directions, 
rather  than  in  historical  or  architectural 
monuments. 

8 


At  the  Hotel  Frascati,  Havre 

The  religious  sentiment  and  artistic  genius 
which  are  to  be  found  at  Rouen,  are  absent 
here.  History  and  worldly  goods  have  taken 
the  place  of  art.  As  the  port  of  Paris  and 
'^  one  of  the  keys  of  France,"  Havre  is  now 
what  Liverpool  has  been  to  England,  though 
it  has  not  sprung  into  this  position  through 
a  fluctuation  of  commercial  interests,  nor 
through  sudden  growth. 

As  a  port  and  town  its  importance  has  been 
recognized  since  the  sixteenth  century.  It 
has  had  as  patrons  such  men  as  Richelieu 
and  Colbert.  It  has  been  rescued  from  the 
hands  of  enemies  by  Catherine  de  Medicis 
and  her  sons  Charles  IV.  and  the  Due 
d'Anjou.  In  its  citadel  the  crafty  Mazarin 
held  captive,  under  the  guardianship  of  the 
Due  d'Harcourt,  the  three  princes,  Conde, 
Conti,  and  Longueville,  during  the  troubles 
of  La  Fronde.  It  was  on  this  occasion  that 
Conde  wrote  the  following  lines  to  his  jailer: 

**  Cet  homme  gros  et  court. 
Si  connu  dans  I'histoire  ; 
Ce  grand  Comte  d'Harcourt 
Tout  couronne  de  gloire. 
Qui  secourut  Casal  et  reprit  Turin, 
Est  maintenant  recors  de  Jules  Mazarin." 


Among  French  Inns 

With  the  lines  still  in  our  ears,  we  arrived 
at  the  door  of  the  Hotel  Frascati.  Our  walk 
through  the  town  had  separated  us  from  our 
friend  the  porter,  whom  we  now  found  await- 
ing our  arrival,  with  cap  in  hand  and  atten- 
tively waiting  for  a  tip.  We  presented  him 
with  a  five-franc  piece  for  his  pains  and  his 
conversation,  which  more  than  delighted 
him,  and  he  left  us  with  evident  regret  and 
a  definite  intention  to  celebrate  at  the  nearest 
cafe. 

The  hotel  is  situated  on  the  beach,  and  is 
really  not  far  from  the  quay,  though  our 
morning  constitutional  had  made  us  take  a 
longer  route  through  the  city.  But  once  ar- 
rived, we  found  a  courteous  manager,  and 
many  anxious  waiters  and  house-porters 
with  green  felt  aprong,  ready  to  do  our  every 
bidding  for  the  coins  which  were  already  as 
good  as  theirs. 

As  the  Frenchman  soon  remarked,  "  the 
hand  is  in  the  pocket  in  France  from  the 
morning  till  evening;  and  it  must  never  be 
taken  out  empty."  So  we  were  made  aware, 
without  the  least  hesitation;  for  even  a  sou 
is  dear  to  the  heart  of  the  Gaul,  and  he  is 
miserable  without  some  attention,  be  it  great 
or  small,  it  matters  not.     There  is  usually, 

lO 


At  the  Hotel  Frascati,  Havre 

however,  an  accepted  tariff  for  the  various 
degrees  of  service  which  one  receives,  and 
this  we  learn  in  time,  though  as  a  rule,  only 
after  some  rather  costly  experience. 

Did  ces  messieurs  wish  rooms?  Yes, 
ces  messieurs  wished  rooms  facing  the  sea, 
and  rest  and  dejeuner,  as  soon  as  possible. 
All  these  desires  were  gratified  in  due  sea- 
son. The  rooms  were  large  and  comfortable, 
and  the  view  from  the  windows  agreeable, 
overlooking  the  promenade  and  the  beach,  and 
everything  as  pleasant  as  could  be  desired. 
The  heavily  curtained  beds,  the  linen  sheets, 
icy  in  winter  but  grateful  in  the  heat  of  sum- 
mer, the  immense  feather  mattresses,  the 
little  stands  with  white  marble  tops,  and  the 
inevitable  glass  tray,  with  bottles  for  rum 
and  water  and  sugar  before  retiring,  were 
typical  of  France. 

On  returning  to  the  hotel  office  later  in 
the  morning,  refreshed  and  ready  for  amuse- 
ment, we  were  more  than  surprised  at  read- 
ing among  the  list  of  guests  the  following 
names : 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  James  Blodget  Wilton. 

Miss  Gladys  Wilton. 

Valet  and  maid,  all  from  New  York. 


II 


Among  French  Inns 

His  Excellency,  Count  Romeo  di  Pomponi, 
Rome. 

It  would  appear  by  the  date  of  the  register, 
that  they  had  all  arrived,  by  the  steamer  of 
the  Transatlantic  Company,  from  America, 
the  day  before.  This  was  indeed  a  discovery, 
and  one  which  gave  our  party  no  little  to 
talk  about  during  our  second  inspection  of  the 
city  of  Havre;  for  we  had  determined  to  see 
what  we  could,  in  spite  of  the  crowds  and  the 
holiday.  The  arrival  of  la  famille  Wilton, 
accompanied  by  the  ardent  Count  Romeo,  was 
sure  to  lead  to  a  series  of  entertainments  and 
excursions  which  we  had  scarcely  expected 
to  indulge  in  at  Havre.  But  since  the  fates 
had  decreed  that  the  beginning  of  our  pil- 
grimage should  be  neither  simple  nor  rural, 
neither  entered  into  with  sackcloth  and 
ashes,  nor  attended  by  the  more  bucolic 
duties,  we  settled  ourselves  down  to  the 
altered  conditions  of  the  present,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  investigate  the  city  itself. 

"  The  foundation  of  Havre  was  not  far 
from  being  prosaic,"  said  the  Frenchman, 
by  way  of  historical  introduction  to  our 
personally  conducted  tour.  "  In  fact,  it  owes 
its  existence  to  the  poor  fishermen  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  who,  beaten  by  the  stormy 

12 


At  the  Hotel  Frascati,  Havre 

winds  of  the  Channel,  sought  refuge  in  this 
harbour  at  the  mouth  of  the  Seine.  The  few 
huts  which  they  erected  along  the  shore, 
and  a  small  chapel  dedicated  to  Notre  Dame, 
constituted  the  entire  town,  which,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course,  was  called  Havre,  the  French 
for  harbour.  Under  Louis  XII.  some 
wooden  constructions  were  built  to  shelter  the 
town  from  the  sea,  and  for  a  time  the  chapel 
of  Notre  Dame  de  Grace  gave  to  Havre  the 
name  of  Havre  de  Grace.  The  place,  how- 
ever, did  not  assume  any  importance  until 
the  time  of  Frangois  I.  This  famous  mon- 
arch ^  adopted  the  new-born  town,'  and  with 
his  characteristic  energy  and  taste  for  build- 
ing, he  soon  made  many  important  addi- 
tions." 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  Englishman.  "  Why 
do  you  stop  when  we  are  just  beginning  to 
be  interested?  I  see  nothing  worth  looking 
at  as  yet,  so  we  may  as  well  listen  to  you." 

'^  Thank  you,"  said  the  Frenchman,  "  I 
will  proceed. 

*^  The  history  of  Havre  is  remarkable  for 
three  things:  the  number  of  sieges  which 
it  has  sustained,  the  royal  visits  with  which 
it  has  been  honoured,  and  the  numerous  plans 
for  enlargement,  of  which   it  has  been   the 

13 


Among  French  Inns 

object  In  1562  it  was  delivered  over  to  the 
Protestants;  but  these  were  soon  expelled  by 
the  Earl  of  Warwick,  who  entered  the  town 
with  the  English  troops. 

"  Catherine  de  Medicis,  however,  recog- 
nized the  importance  of  holding  such  a  place, 
besieged  the  town  with  her  two  sons,  and 
at  last  obtained  possession  of  it.  Under 
Henry  IV.  the  governorship  of  Havre  was 
in  the  hands  of  the  Due  de  Villars,  and  at  his 
death  it  passed  into  those  of  his  brother. 
But  in  spite  of  the  persistent  attacks  of  the 
English,  assaulted  as  it  were  both  by  the 
storms  of  the  sea  and  the  passions  of  men, 
the  town  seems  to  have  grown  and  flourished 
in  its  commercial  wealth  and  mercantile  im- 
portance. The  very  storms  to  which  it  owed 
its  existence  were  the  means  of  saving  it  from 
its  enemies  at  a  later  period  of  its  history. 
For  when  the  Due  de  Choiseul  was  in  com- 
mand of  the  military  forces  of  Havre,  the 
English  fleet,  which  was  about  to  make  an 
attack,  was  forced  to  desist  by  the  fierce  gale 
which  raged  beyond  the  harbour.  Picture 
a  scene  more  typical  of  the  history  of  this 
maritime  city!  The  fleet  ready  to  attack  and 
sack  it;  the  ships'  decks  cleared  for  action; 
and    the   elements    apprehending   the   battle 

14 


At  the  Hotel  Frascati,  Havre 

and  defending  that  which  they  had  been  the 
means  of  creating.  But  another  scene  of  man 
and  nature  struggling  with  one  another  for 
the  mastery;  and  man  the  loser." 

The  Frenchman  ended  his  address,  as  he 
passed  through  the  crowds  of  merrymakers 
in  the  Place  de  I'Hotel  de  Ville.  The  build- 
ing which  gives  the  square  its  name  is  a  con- 
siderable structure.  But  to-day  the  town  has 
little  to  offer  to  the  eye.  An  endless  ex- 
panse of  docks  and  shipping  is  the  almost 
unbroken  sight  which  greets  the  visitor. 
The  only  monuments  of  interest  are  the 
Churches  of  Notre  Dame  and  St.  Frangois, 
the  Tower  of  Frangois  I.,  and  the  Musee-Bib- 
liotheque. 

The  Church  of  Notre  Dame  is  built  on 
the  site  of  the  ancient  chapel,  and  is  an  im- 
posing monument  of  the  sixteenth  century. 
It  is  in  the  style  of  the  Renaissance,  although 
the  tall  windows,  and  the  small  chapels  of 
the  apsis,  are  in  the  Gothic  period  of  archi- 
tecture. The  Church  of  St.  Frangois,  dedi- 
cated to  St.  Frangois  de  Paule,  dates  back 
to  a  few  years  before  the  present  structure  of 
Notre  Dame,  and  is  little  more  than  a  cold, 
rather  classic  exterior,  of  slight  interest  or 
beauty. 

15 


Amo7ig  French  Inns 

The  Tower  of  Francois  I.,  placed  at  the 
end  of  one  of  the  ]etees  as  a  defence  to  the 
entrance  of  the  port,  is  interesting  in  many 
ways.  Built  at  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  it  was  honoured  by  the  presence  of 
the  so-called  founder  of  the  city,  who  re- 
ceived, at  the  expense  of  the  town,  a  magnifi- 
cent banquet,  the  memory  of  which  has  long 
remained  in  the  annals  of  its  people.  Fran- 
cois I.,  ever  the  patron  of  building  and 
architecture,  seldom  took  even  a  passing 
interest  in  a  place  without  leaving  behind 
him  some  memorial  in  stone;  ^rom  which 
posterity  has  reared  to  him  an  imperishable 
name.  For  at  times  it  would  seem  that  only 
words  and  stones  endure  to  record  the  deeds 
of  history. 

In  spite  of  the  lack  of  monumental  or  his- 
toric beauty  at  Havre,  the  mind  is  ever  in- 
clined to  turn  toward  the  past.  For  it  is 
interesting  to  review  the  many  royal  visits  of 
which  this  place  has  been  the  recipient.  In 
1603  the  first  monarch  of  whom  we  have  a 
record  came  in  state  to  view  the  place  and 
give  to  it  his  patronage  and  interest.  It  was 
Henry  IV.  of  France. 

Later,  Louis  XV.,  the  most  fastidious  of 
monarchs,  honoured  the  city  with  his  pres- 

16 


At  the  Hotel  Frascatiy  Havre 

ence.  We  are  told  that  he  was  not  favour- 
ably impressed,  and  was  in  truth  immensely 
bored  with  his  visit,  finding  the  city  too 
commercial  for  his  tastes  and  temperament. 
Louis  XVI.,  during  his  reign,  came  likewise 
to  Havre.  His  visit  was  of  more  lasting 
benefit,  for  he  took  so  great  an  interest  in 
the  city  that  he  set  on  foot  many  plans  for 
its  improvement,  as  well  as  that  of  its  vicinity. 

The  next  ruler  to  visit  Havre  was  Napo- 
leon I.,  who  came  in  1802,  when  all  w^as 
brilliancy  and  success.  His  second  visit, 
in  1 8 10,  was  already  clouded  by  the  shadows 
of  foreboding  evil,  and  he  failed  to  leave  tlie 
vital  stamp  of  his  individuality  behind  him. 
Strange,  that  so  great  a  monarch,  filled  with 
the  desire  to  tear  down  and  create  anew^ 
should  not  have  been  impressed  by  the  latent 
possibilities  here;  the  key  to  the  Seine,  as 
well  as  the  beacon  of  the  Channel.  Lastly, 
in  183 1,  came  Louis  Philippe,  surrounded  by 
the  good-will  of  his  subjects  and  the  power 
of  the  new  monarchy.  True  to  the  traditions 
of  his  predecessors,  he  made  his  pilgrimage 
to  the  now  important  city,  and  received  the 
homage  of  its  citizens. 

We  fear  that  we  may  have  allowed  our 
thoughts  to  linger  too  long  among  the  relics 

17 


Among  French  Inns 

of  a  place  which  has  more  to  do  with  the 
business  of  to-day  than  with  the  memorials 
of  past  centuries.  If  so,  the  motley  crowd 
about  us  would  bring  them  back  again,  in 
spite  of  our  inclination  to  waft  the  fancy 
toward  something  other  than  the  present 
moment.  The  immense  proportion  of 
strangers  and  foreigners  who  are  continually 
coming  or  going,  make  the  floating  popula- 
tion cosmopolitan  to  a  degree.  The  streets 
are  filled  with  people  of  many  nationalities. 
Italians,  Spaniards,  English,  and  Americans, 
Swedes,  Russians,  Austrians,  all  elbow  one 
another  in  the  crowd,  speaking  many  lan- 
guages and  eying  one  another  with  friendly 
or  suspicious  curiosity.  For  it  is  the  ''fete 
de  la  Repuhlique y'  and  every  one  is  out  for 
a  good  time  and  a  holiday. 

The  cafes  are  teeming  with  life.  The 
men,  in  loose,  blue  blouses  and  trousers,  and 
many  in  wooden  sabots,  are  laughing,  quar- 
relling, and  drinking  intermittently.  Peasant 
women,  with  round  white  caps  and  generous 
figures,  are  talking  in  the  quaint  Norman 
dialect,  dragging  their  progeny  behind  them, 
and  sitting  at  tables  with  their  husbands  and 
families. 

"  Tient  gargons!  Another  glass  of  cider, 
i8 


At  the  Hotel  Frascati,  Havre 

and  two  of  red  wine!  Awh,  bawhl  Gesi 
la  fete.    Que  voulez-vouz?  "    And  so  it  goes. 

As  we  pass,  a  good  woman  nudges  her 
friend  with  her  elbow  and  points  us  out.  To 
them  we  are  always  ''  les  Anglais/'  impossible 
for  them  to  understand,  but  bringing  money 
into  pockets  in  summer,  and  welcome  enough 
as  such.    A  little  urchin  shouts  after  us: 

"Oh  yeas!  Fm  English!"  And  we  all 
laugh,  it  is  so  irresistibly  funny. 

Every  one  is  drinking  to  ''  la  France  *'  or 
""  la  Russie/'  and  having  a  beautiful  time. 
What  would  you?  C'est  la  fete  de  la  Repub- 
lique!  "  Let  us  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry," 
is  the  order  of  the  day. 

On  the  way  back  to  the  hotel,  pushing  our 
way  good-humou redly  through  these  chil- 
dren of  sunny  France,  we  encountered  no  less 
a  person  than  Mr.  Blodget  Wilton  himself, 
surrounded  by  an  immense  crowd  and  having 
a  quarrel  with  his  cocker.  To  any  one  who 
has  had  dealings  with  the  French  coachman, 
surmounting  his  miserable  excuse  for  a  vic- 
toria, and  beating  his  still  more  miserable 
drudge  of  a  horse,  —  lame,  tired,  and  unfed, 
—  this  scene  would  scarcely  be  a  surprise. 

The  crowd  was  laughing  and  jeering. 
The  cocker,  with  red  face  and  distorted  eyes, 

19 


Among  French  Inns 

was  gesticulating  wildly,  swearing  fearful 
oaths  and  pushing  his  glazed  top  hat  far 
back  on  his  head.  A  gendarme  was  vainly 
trying  to  pacify  every  one  and  succeeding 
with  no  one;  for  nobody  really  knew  what 
they  were  quarrelling  about  except  Mr. 
Wilton,  and  he,  poor  man,  could  not  explain, 
having  no  command  of  the  French  language, 
and  being  outnumbered  and  outvoiced  by 
the  multitude. 

**V along,  scelerai!'^  finally  shouted  the 
Englishman  to  the  cocher,  having  got  into 
the  centre  of  the  throng  without  meaning  to. 

"  Oh  yeas!  I'm  English,"  came  back  from 
the  depths  of  the* crowd,  and  even  Mr.  B. 
Wilton  was  forced  to  smile  and  forget  his 
anger  for  the  moment. 

"  Well,  well,  where  did  you  all  drop 
from?"  said  he,  delighted  to  see  some  fa- 
miliar faces.  "  I  never  can  make  these  idiots 
understand,"  he  added.  "  Here,  give  this 
money  to  the  policeman,  and  tell  him  to  settle 
with  this  lunatic,  and  let's  walk  home  to  the 
hotel  together.  Where  are  you  staying? 
At  Frascati's?  That's  queer.  We're  all 
there,  too.  Just  arrived  yesterday  —  brought 
the  dago  along  with  us.  He  would  come, 
though    I    hate    to    have    him    hang   around 

20 


At  the  Hotel  Frascati,  Havre 

Gladys.  Well,  well,  the  ladies  will  be 
delighted  to  find  you  are  here,  in  this  God- 
forsaken hole.  I  never  can  get  on  in  these 
foreign  languages." 

By  this  time  the  cocher  was  already  on  his 
way  to  the  cafe  opposite  with  his  friend  the 
policeman;  and  the  crowd  was  left  (dis- 
cussing the  size  of  Mr.  Wilton's  watch-chain 
and  the  value  of  the  pearl  in  his  scarf- 
pin). 

"  It  was  gold,"  said  one.  "  Did  you  see  it? 
It  was  as  large  as  a  halter." 

"  Nonsense,"  replied  another,  "  it  was  only 
gilded." 

"  Awh  —  Fm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  drawled 
a  third.  "These  English  are  so  rich;  they 
say  they  eat  gold  over  there."  And  he 
pointed  a  bony  finger  in  the  direction  of  the 
sea. 

"And  the  pin!  Did  you  see  that?"  broke 
in  another.  "  It  was  like  the  brooch  of  my 
wife's  grandmother,  that  was  made  from 
a  shell  found  on  the  beach.  It  came  to  us 
in  my  wife's  contract  when  we  were  married. 
I  always  thought  it  would  sell  well,  if  pigs 
went  a-begging  and  the  hens  stopped  laying 
eggs  at  the  farm.  Oh,  ces  Anglais!  But  one 
never  knows.     Give  me  Normandy,  though, 

21 


Among  French  Inns 

and  a  good  Norman  cow,  for  my  taste." 
And  off  they  all  went,  gossiping,  down  the 
street. 

On  arriving  at  the  hotel  we  found  Count 
Romeo  in  a  great  state  of  excitement  at  find- 
ing we  were  in  the  neighbourhood.  He 
had  scarcely  recovered  from  the  agonies  of 
the  sea-voyage  from  America,  but  was  all 
smiles  and  affability  and  full  of  a  wonderful 
flow  of  language,  half-Italian,  half-French, 
and  a  good  deal  of  so-called  English. 

"Most  extraorginary  chance!  Oh,  what 
chance,  indeed!  You  here,  my  good  friends. 
And  the  England?  How  did  you  leave  it? 
And  the  London?  How  was  she?  Pleasant, 
ah,  yes,  pleasant  —  America?  Oh,  I  was  al- 
ways in  movement  over  there,  and  so  fat; 
always  so  fat  on  that  side  of  the  water.  But 
here  I  am  thin,  oh,  so  thin!  On  the  ship 
I  threw  everything  out;  and  the  stomach  has 
completely  receded.  Now  he  can  walk  in 
comfort,  without  protruding.  But  it  was  a 
terrible  experience!"  And  the  poor  count 
looked  volumes  as  he  described  it. 

Mr.  Wilton  gave  a  contemptuous  glance 
at  his  Excellency,  and  walked  off,  muttering 
under  his  breath,  "That  fool  of  a  dago!" 
The  gallant  count,  however,  was  soon  forget- 

22 


At  the  Hotel  Frascati,  Havre 

ting  his  troubles  over  a  glass  of  absinthe  on 
the  terrace,  and  waxed  positively  eloquent 
over  his  experiences  in  America. 

"  Never  reposing  themselves,  the  Ameri- 
cans, oh,  never.  Always  in  movement,  always 
busy.  And  the  money,  too,  —  always  mov- 
ing, —  never  in  the  same  place  for  five 
minutes.  I  thought  I  had  the  fortune  in  the 
hand:  but  fute!  Off  it  went.  And  the 
high  buildings.  Oh,  la,  la!  what  dizziness! 
They  makey  me  altogether  upside  down. 
And  then  the  ascenders.  Up  at  the  top,  and 
then  down  to  the  bottom,  with  the  breakfast 
all  in  the  throat." 

The  poor  count!  He  was  neither  a  good 
traveller,  nor  a  man  of  business;  but  always 
a  fund  of  amusement  and  good  nature,  ex- 
cept when  overheated  or  seriously  offended, 
when  he  was  at  times  almost  terrible  to  be- 
hold, his  fierce  mustachios  bristling  with 
indignation,  his  hair  en  brosse,  his  fat  form 
distended  to  twice  its  natural  size.  Such 
was  his  Excellency  in  righteous  anger. 

It  was  in  comparing  the  charms  of  the 
representatives  of  the  fair  sex,  in  France  and 
America,  that  he  was  perhaps  at  his  best. 
Then  all  the  fire  and  ardour  of  his  Southern 
nature  found   freedom   in   utterance.     Then 

23 


Among  French  Inns 

would  his  eyes  soften  with  the  love-beams  of 
Italy,  and  his  hands,  ordinarily  fat  and  list- 
less, wave  in  graceful  circles  through  the  air. 
But  we  shall  have  opportunity,  later,  to  hear 
some  of  his  discourses,  and  at  present, 
'"  dejeuner  is  served,"  and  every  one  is  ready 
for  an  omelet  and  a  ragout  of  chicken. 

"  Oh,  count,"  said  the  decided  voice  of 
Mrs.  Wilton  in  our  ears,  as  we  turned  to 
enter  the  dining-room  of  the  hotel. 

"Oh,  count!  And  oh,  —  why, —  oh!" 
and  then  followed  a  series  of  further  exclama- 
tions, unintelligible  to  the  male  ear,  as  a 
lady  caught  sight  of  three  old  friends. 

"  Well,  dear  me,  this  is  sudden ;  and  so 
unexpected.  But  let  us  go  in  to  dejeuner, 
and  hear  where  you  came  from  later." 

Mrs.  Blodget  Wilton  was  a  brilliant  ex- 
ample of  the  most  determined  and  persever- 
ing class  of  American  motherhood.  Early  in 
life  she  had  been  tied  by  the  circumstances 
of  fate.  Later,  as  her  only  child  reached, 
or  rather  approached,  the  marriageable  age, 
she  became  the  conscious  possessor  of  sudden 
fortune.  With  capability  as  her  forte,  and 
within  her  that  power  which  had  hitherto 
been  dormant, 

To  strive,  to  conquer,  and  achieve, 
24 


At  the  Hotel  Frascati,  Havre 

her  migration  from  the  west  of  America  to 
the  very  heart  of  New  York,  and  later  to 
Europe  for  an  occasional  visit,  had  been 
definite  and  complete.  The  hitherto  un- 
known Wiltons  of  Wisconsin  became  the 
spectacular  Blodget  Wiltons  of  Fifth  Avenue. 
A  name  was  established,  a  family  founded 
upon  gold  dug  from  American  soil  and 
created  by  the  energy  of  a  virile  Western 
civilization.  Such  were  the  annals  of  the 
Blodget  Wiltons. 

How  the  wife  and  mother  had  longed  to 
hyphenate  that  name,  as  some  had  done  be- 
fore her!  How  she  had  planned  and  lain 
awake  nights  and  argued.  But  Mr.  Wil- 
ton, though  small  in  stature  and  inferior  in 
physical  size  to  the  ample  proportions  of  his 
spouse,  was  a  successful  and  decided  little 
man  in  some  things,  and  the  name  had  re- 
mained in  its  original  state.  Still  there  was 
much  for  her  to  do  in  life.  Having  fed  her 
way  into  the  greater  portion  of  the  fashion- 
able world  of  America,  her  adventurous 
spirit  sought  new  fields  to  conquer,  new 
channels  to  success;  and  France  had  been 
the  object-point.  In  these  days,  when  the 
power  of  gold  holds  mankind  in  its  complete 
embrace,   to  entertain   sufficiently,   and  with 

25 


Among  French  Inns 

discrimination,  is  to  create  at  once  a  place  for 
oneself  in  the  worlds  of  Europe  and  America. 

The  quick  and  active  mind  of  Mrs.  Blod- 
get  Wilton  had  realized  this  great  fact  in  the 
social  sphere,  and  her  capable  nature  had 
been  incessantly  directed  toward  this  end. 

"  We  must  feed  the  world,  and  make  our 
friends  enjoy  themselves,'^  she  had  said,  first 
to  herself,  and  later,  with  emphasis,  to  her 
husband. 

"  Do  whatever  you  want,  only  don't  bother 
me,"  had  said  Mr.  Wilton.  "  You  can  feed 
the  Salvation  Army  if  you  like,  and  I'll  pay 
the  bills  up  to  two  hundred  thousand  a  year, 
but  no  more." 

So  the  campaign  began;  and  with  her 
skilful  engineering,  and  the  natural,  good- 
natured  hospitality  of  her  soul,  Mrs.  Blodget 
Wilton  proceeded  to  feed  her  way  into  the 
sacred  heart  of  society.  Now  she  could  get  up 
a  dinner  of  twenty  at  a  moment's  notice,  and 
even  ask  the  guests  over  the  telephone.  There 
was  a  time,  however,  when  it  was  whispered 
about  that  she  could  not  get  up  a  dinner  at 
all,  and  that  nobody  knew  her;  at  least,  no 
one  who  amounted  to  anything.  But  that  was 
all  past  and  gone ;  and  now  only  a  few  "  old 
cats "  dared  to  raise  their  voices  in  criticism. 

26 


At  the  Hotel  Frascati,  Havre 

(And  that  was  really  because  they  were  not 
invited  themselves.) 

Thus  the  Blodget  Wiltons  sailed  forth  on 
the  social  current  of  this  world,  and  with 
them  their  daughter  Gladys,  who  was  really 
a  pretty  and  attractive  young  girl,  unspoiled 
by  the  rather  frivolous  glitter  of  her  sur- 
roundings and  the  exploitation  of  her  mother, 
who  was  in  turn  both  sensible  and  foolish. 

"  We  must  make  an  excursion  to  fitretat, 
if  the  weather  is  fine  to-morrow,  in  an  auto- 
mobile," said  Mrs.  Wilton  at  luncheon. 

"  Oh,  that  would  be  exquisite,"  sighed 
the  count,  all  smiles  at  the  idea.  "  And  the 
bathing  and  the  monde!  That  will  be  a 
change  from  this  dull  old  Havre." 

Mr.  Wilton,  however,  balked  at  the  idea 
of  an  excursion  in  an  automobile.  He  was 
not  of  the  turn  of  mind  that  took  joy  in  vio- 
lent passages  through  the  air,  covered  with 
clouds  of  dust,  and  half-choked  with  flying 
insects  in  summer-time.  He  had  no  liking 
for  goggles,  and  cared  not  to  array  himself  in 
fantastic  garb  of  the  India  rubber  type,  to 
protect  himself  from  the  ravages  of  nature. 

"  None  of  your  wild-goose  chases  for  me, 
Mrs.  W.,"  said  he,  between  a  glass  of  red 
wine  and  a  mouthful  of  Camembert  cheese. 

27 


Among  French  Inns 

"  None  of  that  landing  in  some  outlandish 
place,  off  in  the  country,  with  a  broken  tire, 
or  a  gear  that  won't  work,  for  me!  I'm  too 
wise  a  bird  for  any  more  of  that  kind  of 
sport,  this  year.     You  can  go  without  me." 

The  truth  was,  Mr.  Blodget  Wilton  much 
preferred  to  go  down  to  the  Bourse  and  com- 
pare the  prices  of  stocks,  send  cablegrams  to 
Wall  Street,  or  receive  wireless  messages 
from  the  incoming  steamers,  to  all  the  ex- 
cursions in  the  world.  He  had  not  com- 
pletely gotten  over  the  "  corner  in  pork," 
which  he  had  made  in  Chicago  a  few  years 
previously,  and  was  really  never  happy  unless 
he  was  in  touch  with  the  market,  or  compar- 
ing the  rise  and  fall  in  food-stuffs,  that 
could  control  the  output  of  the  entire 
universe;  for  Mr.  Blodget  Wilton  was  a 
man  of  large  conceptions,  though  he  was  a 
good  six  inches  shorter  than  the  average 
height  of  mankind. 

The  rest  of  the  party  took  kindly  to  the 
idea  of  an  excursion  to  fitretat  in  auto- 
mobiles, and  the  afternoon  was  spent  in  look- 
ing them  up,  and  in  ascending  the  heights  on 
which  Ingouville  and  Graville  are  situated. 
These  two  adjoining  towns  were  made  a  part 
of  Havre  in  1856.    We  took  tea  at  a  pretty 

28 


At  the  Hotel  Frascati,  Havre 

restaurant  overlooking  the  lower  part  of  the 
city  and  the  harbour.  The  ladies  took  tea 
and  the  gentlemen  various  forms  of  French 
beverages.  Here  it  was  less  crowded  than 
in  the  town  itself;  and  the  view  and  colour- 
ing at  sunset  were  most  effective,  and  repaid 
them  for  the  climb. 

The  poor  count,  who  had  walked  up  part 
of  the  way  for  exercise,  arrived  puffing  and 
wheezing  like  a  grampus,  and  fatter  than 
ever.  Indeed,  it  seemed  that  his  experience 
on  the  ocean  had  done  him  little  or  no  good, 
and  that  there  was  every  reason  to  expect  he 
would  soon  be  as  fat  as  he  had  been  in 
America. 

"Oh,  my  dear  count,"  said  the  French- 
man, who  showed  decided  signs  of  jealousy 
toward  his  Italian  rival,  "  Oh,  my  dear 
count,  you  must  be  more  careful,  lest  you 
have  an  attack  some  day,  and  Italy  lose  one 
of  her  most  distinguished  sons.  You  must 
be  more  careful.  You  are  all  warm.  You 
alarm  me.  Order  some  chartreuse;  it  is 
good  for  the  eruption.  Mon  oncle  Hippo- 
lite,  who  died  during  the  last  Revolution, 
used  always  to  say  it  was  an  excellent  pre- 
ventive for  apoplexy." 

Of  course,  no  one  for  a  moment  believed 
29 


^mong  French  Inns 

that  the  Frenchman's  uncle  Hippolite  had 
ever  recommended  chartreuse  for  apoplexy, 
but  everybody  urged  the  poor  count  to  take 
some,  just  to  see  what  effect  it  would  have 
upon  him.  And  he  did;  and  liking  it  so 
much,  and  finding  it  so  good,  took  two  or 
three  glasses  more  of  the  sweet  intoxicant, 
and,  oh,  horrors,  became  only  warmer  and 
fatter  than  before.  The  Frenchman  was  in 
triumph  at  the  success  of  this  contemptible 
trick,  and  the  rest  of  the  party  made  merry 
at  their  expense. 

It  was  amusing  to  observe  Mrs.  Wilton's 
complete  possession  of  the  restaurant  while 
we  were  there,  and  to  see  her  order  about  the 
manager,  the  waiters,  and  the  musicians, 
until  they,  too,  were  impressed  with  her 
wealth  and  her  commanding  presence.  Miss 
Gladys  was  all  smiles  and  pleasantry  during 
the  afternoon,  and  definitely  inclined  to  en- 
courage the  advances  of  all  the  gentlemen  of 
the  party,  to  flirt  with  each  one  of  them,  and 
throw  them  all  over  at  a  moment's  notice  if 
any  one  else  came  along.  Such  was  the  de- 
lightful temperament  of  this  young  lady 
that  she  made  everybody  like  her,  without 
apparently  caring  anything  for  anybody. 
Still,  nobody  could  resist  the  smile  and  the 

30 


At  the  Hotel  Frascati,  Havre 

droop  of  her  eyelid,  and  it  was  enough  to  feel 
that  she  even  condescended  to  flirt;  in  itself  an 
inexpressible  pleasure  to  her  admirers. 

"  Oh,  mademoiselle,  do  not  these  lights  in 
the  distance  incite  the  feeling  of  loave?" 
sighed  the  count,  as  they  drove  back  to 
Havre,  through  a  v^inding  road  lined  with 
villas  and  garden  walls. 

But  Miss  Wilton  only  laughed  and  said 
in  reply:  ^' Oh,  Count  di  Pomponi,  you  are 
an  amusing  man." 

The  scene  by  moonlight,  half-hidden  by 
the  gardens  and  villas,  was  worthy  oi  some 
stage  setting:  a  city  lying  at  one's  feet,  the 
great  jetties  with  their  tangle  of  shipping, 
just  discernible  in  the  soft  beams,  a  faint  sug- 
gestion of  the  merrymakers  below  coming 
to  us  as  we  wound  our  way  downward. 
Here,  then,  was  the  port  of  Normandy  and 
Paris,  stretched  before  us  like  some  half- 
distinct  object-lesson  of  the  maritime  develop- 
ment of  France,  like  a  wonderful  myriad- 
jewelled  carpet  laid  beneath  us,  and  we 
hovering  above  it.  For  in  the  almost  fairy- 
like atmosphere  of  this  country  nothing  seems 
entirely  real  to  American  eyes. 

In  another  hour  our  first  day  at  Havre  was 
over. 

31 


CHAPTER    II 

IN   SEARCH   OF  AN   INN 
Between  Havre  and  Rouen 

"  I'm  tired  of  Havre,  and  as  we  feel 
rested,  I  think  we  had  better  join  your  party 
and  hunt  up  some  attractive  old  inn,  where 
we  can  stay  for  a  little,  and  make  trips 
through  this  part  of  Normandy,"  said  Mrs. 
Blodget  Wilton,  as  we  met  early  the  next 
morning  after  our  cafe  au  lait. 

"  I  should  like  nothing  better,"  said  Mr. 
Wilton,  "  only  you  can  do  the  automobiling, 
and  I  will  go  on  comfortably  to  fitretat  with 
the  baggage.  I'm  getting  too  old  to  go 
jolting  round  the  country  in  those  infernal 
machines."  So  we  all  started  off,  leaving 
Mr.  Wilton  to  meet  us  wherever  we  might 
turn  up,  at  Etretat,  or  some  other  more  rural 
spot  in  the  surrounding  country. 

We  were  distributed  in  two  automobiles, 
hired  for  several  days,  or  longer.  Mr.  Wil- 
ton had  promptly  made  a  business  arrange- 

o- 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

ment,  in  writing,  to  cover  the  whole  party, 
which  was  the  only  interest  he  seemed  to 
take  in  the  whole  affair.  As  it  was  neces- 
sary to  separate  the  count  and  the  French- 
man, for  diplomatic  reasons,  the  former  was 
invited  to  escort  Mrs.  Blodget  Wilton.  She 
liked  him  better  than  her  daughter  did,  and 
could  talk  freely  about  the  royal  families  of 
Europe,  and  glean  from  him  many  interest- 
ing facts,  which  she  stored  up  in  her  brain; 
and  then  he  amused  her,  and  that  in  itself  was 
an  advantage.  The  aristocracy  of  Europe 
was  her  joy,  and  titles  had  always  been  an 
intoxicant  which  she  was  unable  to  resist. 
Kings  were  her  greatest  happiness.  With 
queens  she  had  as  yet  but  slight  acquaintance. 

As  we  dashed  down  the  Boulevard  Fran- 
cois I.,  she  poured  out  her  heart  to  the  count. 

"  You  see,  I  really  feel  perfectly  familiar 
with  kings;  riding  on  bicycles,  short  skirts, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  I  never  have  any 
trouble  in  writing  notes  to  them.  But  em- 
perors are  different;  there  is  so  much  red 
tape;  I  never  know  how  to  address  them.  It 
really  is  very  difficult." 

With  the  august  surroundings  of  the 
greater  sovereigns  of  Europe  Mrs.  Blodget 
Wilton  was  as  yet  unable  to  cope;   for  while 

33 


Among  French  Inns 

they  were  inclined  to  be  polite  to  Americans 
of  large  fortune  and  a  certain  savoir  vivre, 
the  conventionalities  of  the  great  powers  were 
rather  a  drawback  to  the  more  easy  and 
familiar  ways  of  a  democratic  personage  like 
our  good-natured  companion.  The  count 
breathed  soft  words  of  flattery  and  encourage- 
ment into  her  ears,  though  he  was  half- 
choked  with  the  dust,  —  for  there  were  no 
watering-carts  of  the  American  type  on  the 
boulevard,  —  and  he  diverted  her  mind  with 
an  anecdote  of  the  French  Bonapartists  at  the 
tine  of  the  Second  Empire. 

We  were  to  take  a  preliminary  run  to  the 
seaside  suburbs  of  St.  Adresse  and  La  Heve. 
A  tramway  leads  from  the  Cour  de  la  Re- 
publique  to  St.  Adresse,  if  one  desires  to  go 
that  way;  or  it  is  an  agreeable  walk  of 
about  four  kilometres,  little  more  than  two 
and  a  half  miles,  along  the  cliff.  The  road 
is  a  pleasant  one,  and  the  sun,  dancing  on  the 
waters  of  the  Channel,  with  the  blue  sky 
above,  made  the  trip  there  a  charming  one. 
On  arriving,  we  all  paid  a  franc  and  entered 
the  Casino,  which  is  always  a  necessary  part 
of  a  French  watering-place,  and  after  ex- 
hausting the  pleasures  of  this  establishment, 
took   a   look    at   the   bathers    on   the   plage. 

34 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

This  is  much  frequented  by  both  ladies  and 
gentlemen  of  various  degrees.  The  charge 
is  fifty  centimes,  and  seventy-five  centimes 
with  costume.  The  costume  is  a  distinctive 
element  of  the  French  bathing  establishment, 
and  well  worth  studying  —  at  a  discreet  dis- 
tance. The  bathing-houses  are  on  wheels, 
and  neatly  painted,  with  pointed  roofs,  and 
are  nicely  fitted  up  inside.  They  are  usually 
drawn  up  or  down  the  broad,  sandy  beach, 
to  suit  the  tide;  and  the  bathers  step  in  and 
out  without  having  to  walk  to  the  water. 

Stout  ladies,  thin  gentlemen,  young  women, 
youths,  and  children,  jump  and  gambol 
about  in  the  surf,  bounced  up  and  down,  or 
rolled  over  by  what  is  known  in  French  as 
*'  le  jeu  des  vagues/'  Sailors  protect  the  in- 
cautious bather  from  danger  by  patrolling  the 
deeper  water  in  a  rowboat.  After  his  bath 
the  patron  of  the  bath-house  is  reminded  of 
the  necessary  tip  by  the  good  Norman 
woman  or  the  good  Norman  man  who  has 
charge  of  his  particular  bath-house,  usually 
a  picturesque  creature  with  bare  legs  and  in 
native  costume. 

The  party  made  a  short  visit  to  the 
prettily  situated  little  chapel  of  Notre  Dame 
des  Flots,  which  is  the  religious  haven  of  the 

35 


Among  French  Inns 

relatives  and  friends  of  sailors  and  fisher- 
men of  the  place.  There  they  pray  for  those 
who  brave  the  dangers  of  the  Channel,  and 
burn  candles  to  the  favourite  saint;  the 
simple  Norman  faith,  half-mixed  with 
superstition,  guiding  their  thoughts  to  the 
belief  that  the  Holy  Virgin  watches  over 
their  welfare,  if  thus  invoked.  There  is 
something  natural  and  human  in  the  part 
which  the  Church  plays  in  their  lives,  and 
in  the  power  which  the  priest  exerts  over 
their  thoughts  and  acts. 

"Must  we  mount  again  the  hill?"  sighed 
the  poor  count,  as  we  started  off  for  the 
Phares  de  la  Heve. 

"  Then  you  do  not  like  the  mounting? " 
queried  the  Frenchman,  with  perfect  naivete. 
"  The  mounting  is  good  for  the  health,  mon 
cher.  Is  it  possible  that  you  do  not  mount  the 
mountains  in  Italy?" 

"  Oh,  of  course,  I  do  my  possible,"  replied 
the  gallant  Pomponi ;  "  but  then,  when  one  is 
so  fat  and  the  sun  all  in  the  head.  Ah!  the 
day  is  hot.  La,  la,  la,  la!"  And  it  was 
not  long  before  the  stout  count  had  ceased  to 
walk. 

The  charms  of  St.  Adresse  have  been  ex- 
tolled by  Alphonse  Karr,  and  he  surely  had 

36 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

some  reason  to  do  so.  But  the  view  from  the 
heights  of  La  Heve  is  far  beyond  that  below. 
It  did  not  take  us  long  to  reach  the  top  in  the 
automobiles.  But  we  paused,  half-way  up, 
to  observe  a  monument  to  the  French  admiral 
Lefevre-Desnouettes,  who  died  in  1824. 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  interesting  at  all,"  said 
Mrs.  Wilton.  "  We  have  much  better  monu- 
ments in  Central  Park  in  New  York!  Go 
on,  chauffeur.  But  the  view  certainly  is 
lovely,  even  here.  What  a  pity  it  is  that 
James  can't  bear  an  automobile.  But  he  does 
hate  goggles  so.  He  says  they  tickle  the 
eyelashes.  And  I  don't  know  that  I  blame 
him." 

^'  Oh,  mamma,  do  ask  Count  di  Pomponi 
to  come  to  our  automobile,"  called  out  Miss 

Wilton  from  behind.     ^'  Monsieur  de  B 

is  getting  so  cross  we  can't  do  anything  with 
him  back  here."  The  ardent  Romeo  was 
more  than  desirous,  and  the  change  was  ac- 
cordingly made. 

The  truth  was  that  the  Frenchman  was 
showing  signs  of  being  decidedly  irritable,  — 
"  a  very  irritatable  man,"  as  the  count  ex- 
pressed it,  —  and  the  fair  Miss  Gladys  was 
tired  of  trying  to  keep  the  peace.  He  was 
inclined  to  manage  every  one,  and  to  attempt, 

n 


Among  French  Inns 

when  once  on  French  soil,  even  to  twist  the 
British  Lion's  tail.  The  Englishman,  being 
very  calm  and  impassive,  was  impervious  to 
the  pin-pricks  with  which  the  French  so  fre- 
quently enliven  their  conversation.  But  at 
times  even  he  would  show  inclinations  to 
object,  inclinations  which  it  was  impossible 
to  disregard;  hence  the  change  of  passengers 
in  the  different  automobiles. 

From  the  Phares  de  la  Heve  we  again 
looked  down  upon  a  beautiful  view  of  the 
town  and  the  brilliant  waters  of  the  English 
Channel,  dotted  with  steamers  and  sails,  and 
sparkling  with  the  rays  of  the  sun,  reflecting 
always  the  glorious,  indescribable,  almost 
mystical  atmosphere  of  France.  The 
"  patron "  of  the  hotel  was  a  funny  old 
Norman,  shrewd,  suspicious,  and  disinclined 
to  believe  any  one  to  be  either  a  friend  or 
an  honest  person.  We  queried  him  in  regard 
to  the  inns  of  the  neighbouring  country,  but 
got  little  satisfaction  from  his  cautious 
answers. 

"  What  are  the  best  inns  near  here?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Wilton,  in  her  direct,  commanding 
fashion. 

The  old  Norman  eyed  her  with  sage  dis- 
approval, and  finally  answered: 

38 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

"  Awh  —  Us  sont  point  bon,  madame  — 
point  bon/^ 

"  I  didn't  ask  you  whether  they  were  good 
or  not,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton,  "  I  simply  in- 
quired what  the  best  ones  were.  Don't  you 
know?  You're  in  the  hotel  business;  you 
ought  to." 

"  Awh  —  ma  foi,  je  n^en  sais  rien,  madame; 
they  may  be  good ;  they  may  be  bad." 

"Oh,  what  an  aggravating  man!"  ex- 
claimed our  hostess,  exasperated  with  him. 

"  Do  see  if  you  can  get  something  out  of 

him,  Monsieur  de  B .     I  never  can  get 

along  with  these  country  hotel-keepers. 
They  are  perfectly  impossible.  Come,  count, 
let  us  have  another  look  at  the  view  before  we 
start.  And,  oh,  Gladys,  do  pin  up  your  back 
hair!  It's  all  loose  behind."  So  saying,  Mrs. 
Wilton  vanished,  and  we  were  left  to  decide 
whether  or  not  to  go  back  to  Harfleur,  a 
picturesque  place,  by  way  of  Graville,  and 
then  take  a  circuitous  route  to  fitretat.  As 
this  would  give  us  a  chance  to  visit  Monti- 
vilHers,  Lillebonne,  Beuzeville,  and  Fecamp 
on  the  coast,  we  settled  upon  this  itinerary, 
and  were  soon  on  the  way  back  to  Graville. 

"  It  is  rather  flat  and  uninteresting  near  the 
coast,   is   it   not? "   said   the   Englishman   to 

39 


Among  French  Inns 

Miss  Wilton,  as  they  sped  along  the  smooth 
road. 

''  Yes,"  said  she,  ^'  but  it  is  very  pretty,  I 
think.  The  red-tiled  roofs  of  the  cottages, 
with  their  white  walls,  and  the  quaint  farms 
and  village  churches,  are  so  different  from 
England  or  America,  that  they  are  always 
new,  and  I  find  something  very  fascinating 
about  them.  France  is  to  me  a  sort  of  dream- 
land, never  quite  real,  and  full  of  fanciful 
people  and  things.  I  love  it,  and  especially 
the  rural  places  that  we  visit  sometimes, 
when  mamma  is  tired  of  entertaining  in 
Paris." 

Miss  Wilton's  face  was  really  beautiful 
while  she  was  speaking,  and  it  was  impossible 
for  the  Englishman  not  to  be  aware  of  it. 
Her  deep  violet  eyes,  shaded  by  long  lashes, 
her  fresh  colouring,  enhanced  by  the  morn- 
ing air,  her  hair  of  a  light  sunny  brown,  half- 
curling,  —  the  whole  effect  was  a  picture  of 
the  finest  type  of  what  America  can  produce 
in  feminine  beauty.  No  wonder  the  men 
were  inclined  to  admire,  and  the  adorers  of 
the  Latin  nations  to  flatter  and  desire  her 
hand.  The  Englishman,  however,  seemed 
strangely  indifferent  to  all  such  things.  The 
Briton,  as  a  rule,  is,  to  be  sure,  more  self-con- 

40 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

tained,  more  phlegmatic  than  his  American 
cousin.  The  Latin  is,  of  course,  not  to  be 
compared,  being  always  at  fever-heat  and 
unable  to  contain  himself  in  any  wise,  when- 
ever aroused  to  the  least  sense  of  feeling. 
The  Englishman  is  by  nature  inclined  to 
receive  impressions  and  retain  them.  When 
feeling  the  most  he  frequently  displays  the 
least  to  those  about  him.  But  he  feels  more 
deeply,  more  simply,  and  in  a  more  lasting 
way,  as  a  rule. 

Though  frequently  credited  with  a  purely 
practical  character,  the  English  are  in  reality 
a  romantic  race.  Their  sentiments  are  born 
of  a  mental  attitude  that  is  free  and  un- 
affected by  anything  complex  or  contrary  in 
its  action.  With  the  Frenchman,  a  thou- 
sand furies  possess  him;  a  hundred  thoughts 
fly  through  his  brain.  He  lives  through  a 
multitude  of  impressions  and  passions,  and 
forgets  them  all,  while  the  Englishman  re- 
ceives a  single,  simple  thought  which  he 
retains  in  perfect  truth,  and  sometimes  acts 
upon  through  life.  The  Frenchman  fills  the 
air  with  sighs,  expressions,  words,  in  wild 
effusion.  The  Englishman  never  utters  a 
word  which  does  not  convey  some  real  or 
permanent  meaning,  to  himself  at  least,  if  to 

41 


Among  French  Inns 

no  one  else.  The  Frenchman,  unrestrained, 
moves  through  heaven  to  hell  in  the  twink- 
ling of  an  eye.  The  Englishman  remains 
upon  the  earth  until  he  dies. 

Our  particular  Englishman  was  one  of 
this  type,  and  while  he  seemed  to  like  Miss 
Gladys  Wilton,  he  was  the  least  moved 
toward  her  of  any  of  the  party.  Indeed, 
she  appeared  to  mean  nothing  to  him  what- 
ever. The  Wiltons,  in  fact,  made  only  a  dim 
impression  upon  his  mind.  They  were  rich 
Americans.  In  a  London  season  one  met 
many  rich  Americans.  The  American  mil- 
lionaire formed  part  of  the  season's  incidents, 
like  the  Derby,  the  Trooping  of  the  Colours, 
or  the  opera.  They  came  and  went,  and  one 
thought  no  more  about  them  —  and  here  they 
were  again,  after  a  year  or  so.  It  was  all 
part  of  the  kaleidoscope  which  made  up  his 
life,  and  to  which  he  was  more  or  less  indif- 
ferent. His  experience  of  either  French  or 
American  ways  was  limited.  He  simply  did 
not  take  them  in. 

Being  calm,  and  ready  to  be  pleased,  he 
found  Miss  Wilton  a  pretty  girl,  in  whose 
society  he  was  willing  to  be  thrown,  and  was 
rather  entertained  than  otherwise  by  her 
mother's  evident   adoration   for  his   position 

4.2 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

in  life.  For  he  was  no  less  a  person  than 
the  son  of  an  English  marquis,  and  as  such 
was  a  distinct  unit  in  Mrs.  Blodget  Wilton's 
social  horizon.  England  was  to  her  a  yet 
unconquered  field,  and  such  units  were,  there- 
fore, not  to  be  lightly  passed  over. 

"  Your  life  must  be  delightful  in  England,'* 
said  she,  as  they  paused  at  a  little  hamlet 
to  inquire  the  way.  "  Everything  is  so  care- 
fully thought  out.  Every  one  seems  to  be 
ticketed,  just  like  some  kind  of  a  cloak  in  a 
coat-room,  and  to  be  set  out  in  regular  order. 
What  a  pity  it  is  we  don't  have  a  court  in 
America.  Of  course  we  should  all  be  dukes 
if  we  did."  As  nobody  undertook  to  deny 
this  statement,  it  was  allowed  to  remain  un- 
challenged. 

The  road  was  becoming  more  wooded  and 
picturesque,  and  as  we  reached  the  little 
town  of  Graville,  near  Havre,  the  effect  was 
attractive  in  the  extreme.  Situated  on  high 
ground  to  the  left,  was  an  interesting  Norman 
church  of  the  eleventh  century,  which  we 
paused  to  visit.  This  church,  which  is  called 
the  Abbey  of  Graville,  is  interesting  chiefly 
as  being  one  of  the  oldest  in  this  region.  Its 
earliest  portions  date  from  the  last  half  of 
the  eleventh  century,   and   its  later  portions 

43 


Among  French  Inns 

from  the  thirteenth.  It  is  reached  by  steep 
steps  of  a  mediaeval  character,  and  on  the  left 
of  the  entrance  is  a  picturesque  and  partly 
ruined  tower,  which  for  many  years  has  been 
crowned  by  a  covering  of  green,  wild  com- 
panions to  its  age,  those  shrouds  with  which 
nature  drapes  the  stones  that  have  been 
raised  by  man.  A  great  cross  rises  in  front 
of  it,  which  we  were  told  was  the  original 
of  the  one  used  in  the  opera  of  "  Robert  le 
Diable,"  at  its  first  representations  in  France. 
The  gravestones  remaining  in  the  churchyard 
about  it  speak  in  silent  eloquence  of  the 
place  —  a  worthy  inspiration  for  some  un- 
written elegy.  A  terrace  on  the  right  of  the 
church  commands  a  fine  view  of  the  country. 

For  a  moment  the  shadow  of  the  Roman 
tower,  the  story  of  the  cross,  and  the  view 
from  the  stone  terrace,  wafted  the  imagination 
back  to  the  simplicity  of  early  mediaeval 
France  when  the  Norman  conquered  races 
and  gave  the  Conqueror  to  England. 

Mrs.  Blodget  Wilton,  however,  lost  no 
time  in  bringing  us  back  to  the  present. 

"  Come,  the  chauffeur  says  we  shall  never 
reach  Etretat  at  this  rate;  we  must  start  at 
once.  Moreover,  Fm  sure  we  never  shall 
find  an  inn  unless  we  go  right  through  the 

44 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

country  and  hunt  one  up  for  ourselves.  These 
people  here  wouldn't  give  us  the  least  idea 
if  we  questioned  them  till  doomsday.  I  have 
been  talking  with  an  old  woman  while  you 
have  been  poking  around  that  musty  old 
church.  She  doesn't  seem  to  know  anything; 
at  least,  she  won't  tell  me  if  she  does,  so  it 
all  amounts  to  the  same  thing." 

"  Oh,  the  mediaeval  France,  it  is  nothing 
compared  to  Italy,"  sighed  the  count,  as  he 
was  bundled  into  his  automobile  and  squeezed 
down  beside  Mrs.  Wilton. 

*' Allans,  chauffeur!"  and  off  we  go  again 
in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

It  is  about  four  kilometres  to  Harfleur, 
and  we  were  soon  there.  The  town  is  charm- 
ingly picturesque  in  many  ways,  and  well 
situated  upon  the  Seine.  Its  former  com- 
mercial glory  has  long  since  been  absorbed 
by  the  proximity  of  Havre,  and  its  harbour 
has  been  filled  up  with  the  mud,  sand,  and 
stones  washed  into  it  by  the  Lezard,  a  tribu- 
tary at  this  point.  A  beautiful  tower,  be- 
longing to  the  Gothic  church,  supposed  to 
have  been  founded  by  Henry  V.  of  England, 
rises  from  among  a  quaint  tangle  of  houses. 
Their  uneven  roofs,  covered  with  deep  red 
tiles,  follow  one  another  in  delightful  irregu- 
'    45 


Among  French  Inns 

larity.  A  flight  of  steps  leads  down  into  the 
tributary  stream,  with  a  ^high  stone  bridge 
beyond.  The  scene  might  well  be  that  of 
some  stage  setting,  drawn  by  an  artisfs  hand. 

Harfleur  was  at  one  time  a  place  of  great 
importance,  owing  to  its  position  near  the 
mouth  of  the  Seine,  and  was,  in  fact,  the 
chief  port  of  Normandy.  In  the  part  which 
it  played  in  the  ancient  wars  of  France,  this 
place  was  a  worthy  companion  to  Rouen 
itself.  The  names  of  many  historical  per- 
sonages are  connected  with  it,  for  it  was  the 
centre  of  commerce,  the  theatre  of  early 
struggles,  and  the  point  from  which  many 
important  expeditions  to  foreign  countries 
departed. 

During  the  Hundred  Years'  War  Har- 
fleur was  besieged,  taken,  and  retaken  many 
times.  In  141 5  it  was  attacked  by  Henry  V., 
and  with  only  a  small  garrison  under  the 
Sire  d'Estouteville  held  out  for  forty  days. 
Visions  of  the  warlike  spirit  of  mediaeval 
France  arise  to  the  mind  as  we  tread  these 
narrow,  picturesque  streets,  with  overhanging 
gables  made  of  beams  and  plaster,  blackened 
with  the  age  of  centuries.  Edward  the  Con- 
fessor, Marguerite  d'Anjou,  Henry  II.,  and 
fileanore   de  Guyenne  have  passed  through 

46 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

Harfleur  on  their  way  to  England;  and 
others  hardly  less  famous  have  arrived, 
tossed  by  the  angry  waves  of  the  Channel. 

What  a  change  from  the  France  of  those 
days  is  the  quiet  life  of  Harfleur  to-day! 
It  is  little  more  than  a  picturesque  remem- 
brance of  the  past,  a  shadow  of  its  former 
greatness.  And  yet  it  possesses  for  the  visitor 
a  rare  charm  and  an  enduring  quality  which 
cling  to  those  who  make  it  a  place  of  pil- 
grimage to-day,  in  the  sunny  quietness  of  a 
July  morning. 

"  Now  don't  let's  trouble  to  visit  the 
church  this  time,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton,  who  was 
still  in  a  hurry  to  proceed. 

"  By  example!  "  exclaimed  the  Frenchman 
in  horror.  For  him  the  first  duty  was  to 
visit  the  church  at  every  stopping-place, 
examine  everything,  and  usually  offer  up 
prayers  for  our  safe  deliverance  from  the 
dangers  of  the  automobile. 

"Well,  you  may  go  if  you  like,"  replied 
Mrs.  Wilton,  in  despair,  "  but  the  count  and 
I  shall  remain  where  we  are,  in  our  places, 
and  talk  to  these  children.  Perhaps  they 
may  know  more  than  their  parents,  who  cer- 
tainly are  very  peculiar  with  strangers.  I 
never    saw    anything    like    these    peasants. 

47 


'   Among  French  Inns 

They  seem  to  think  we  are  going  to  murder 
them  all,  or  blow  the  towns  up  with  dyna- 
mite. We  certainly  look  harmless;  don't 
you  think  so,  count? "  And  Mrs.  Wilton 
settled  herself  down  in  her  seat  like  a  huge 
hen  going  to  roost,  all  surrounded  with 
feathers  and  flufif,  making  a  picture  which, 
if  not  entirely  rural,  was  at  least  worthy  of 
study  and  contemplation. 

The  count  was  wiping  the  dust  from  his 
face,  and  endeavouring  to  extract  fragments 
of  rock  or  gravel  which  had  embedded  them- 
selves in  the  deep  mysteries  of  his  eyelids, 
and  was  too  busy  to  answer.  The  rest  of  the 
party  explored  the  church,  and  found  it  a 
charming  example  of  early  si:?^teenth-century 
architecture.  The  tower  is  now  the  chief 
glory  of  Harfleur.  The  fagade  is  profusely 
sculptured,  the  carving  being  freely  inter- 
spersed with  quaint  figures  of  animals,  whose 
smooth  outlines  the  artists  of  that  period  de- 
lighted to  represent  in  stone.  Lizards, 
squirrels,  rats  even,  appear  between  the 
branches  of  vines  or  thistles  according  to  the 
fancy  of  the  sculptor.  The  interior  contains 
one  or  two  interesting  memorials  richly 
carved  in  Gothic  detail,  and  one  especially. 


48 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

of  a  woman  dressed  in  the  costume  worn  at 
the  time  of  the  Valois. 

Every  one  was  loath  to  leave  the  church 
and  its  beautiful  Gothic  tower,  and  return  to 
the  automobiles,  which  were  waiting  outside 
the  best  cafe  of  the  place. 

"  Fm  glad  to  see  you  have  not  been  too 
long  this  time,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton,  with  a 
sigh  of  relief  as  the  party  reappeared. 
"  Count  di  Pomponi  has  had  another  glass 
of  absinthe,  and  I  think  he  really  needs  the 
motion  of  the  automobile  to  clear  his  brain. 
And  then  if  we  are  ever  to  find  an  inn,  we 
may  as  well  begin,  for  I  can't  see  a  sign  of 
one  here." 

"  Oh,  madame,  the  thought  of  the  tavern 
makes  me  feel  so  rural.  Ah,  but  the  inns  of 
Italy!  You  must  come  and  see  them  one  day. 
Ah,  la  belle  Italie!  "  And  the  count's  rhap- 
sody was  lost  in  the  buzzing  of  the  machine 
as  it  darted  off  on  the  road  to  Lillebonne. 

The  Frenchman  was  sure  there  was  an  inn 
at  Lillebonne,  and  at  all  events  there  were 
two  old  chateaux  in  the  neighbourhood ;  so  to 
Lillebonne  we  accordingly  went,  with  the 
most  immoderate  and  uncomfortable  haste. 
As  we  rounded  a  curve  in  the  road,  with  a 
high  wall  on  the  right,  the  chauffeur  gave 

49 


Among  French  Inns 

a  violent  turn  to  his  wheel  and  came  to  a 
standstill,  wiping  the  cold  beads  of  perspira- 
tion from  his  brow.  The  count  was  thrown 
violently  against  Mrs.  Blodget  Wilton,  who 
screamed  and  pushed  him  from  her.  In  the 
midst  of  the  confusion  and  babel  of  fright- 
ened voices,  a  pony-cart,  containing  a  jovial- 
looking  cure  and  two  comfortable-looking 
Frenchmen,  passed  serenely  by,  as  if  nothing 
were  out  of  the  way  and  they  were  not  on  the 
wrong  side  of  the  road.  Not  in  the  least 
realizing  that  they  had  just  escaped  being 
killed,  they  smiled  politely,  raised  their  hats, 
and  trotted  of]f  in  perfect  serenity. 

The  canton  of  Montivilliers,  in  which 
Harfleur  is  situated,  was  soon  left  behind,  and 
we  entered  that  of  Lillebonne.  The  scenery 
became  more  rural  and  picturesque  at  every 
kilometre.  The  small,  rolling  hills,  covered 
with  green  grass,  and  orchards  of  tiny  apple- 
trees;  the  farms  dotted  in  among  them; 
the  hedges  and  neatly  trimmed  roadsides;  all 
bespoke  the  characteristic  country  of  Nor- 
mandy. Ideas  of  cheese  and  cider  filled  the 
brain  of  the  Frenchman,  for  he  was  eternally 
referring  to  them  and  telling  us  how  good 
these  indigenous  products  of  the  country 
were,   and   insisting  upon   our  trying  them. 

50 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

Nothing  would  induce  Mrs.  Wilton,  how- 
ever, to  think  of  indulging  in  either  cheese  or 
cider.  She  could  enjoy  only  the  richest  of 
French  dishes,  and  anything  simple  was  to 
her  abhorrent,  to  be  avoided  if  possible. 
Still,  the  rest  of  'the  party  were  willing  to 
lend  themselves  to  the  Frenchman's  enthu- 
siasm, and  to  look  forward  to  these  pleasures 
at  Lillebonne. 

We  drew  up,  on  our  arrival,  at  the  Hotel 
de  France,  which  is  a  good,  clean,  and  rea- 
sonable little  hostelry,  and  the  only  one 
worthy  of  the  name  in  the  place.  The  patron 
eyed  us  with  interest,  and  ushered  us  into  a 
neat  dining-room,  where  we  took  dejeuner. 
Of  course  it  included  cheese  and  cider,  much 
to  the  delight  of  the  Frenchman  and  the 
disgust  of  Mrs.  Wilton,  who  would  not  touch 
either. 

^^  But  the  cider  is  the  wine  of  the  country," 
said  he  in  argument.  "  Drink,  count;  it 
will  do  you  good  after  the  ride." 

We  found  it,  however,  rather  hard,  and  on 
the  whole  not  so  good  as  the  sparkling  cider, 
almost  like  champagne,  that  is  sold  in  Amer- 
ica. The  madame  of  the  establishment  made 
herself  very  attentive  to  our  wants,  and 
served   a   delicious   little  Norman  breakfast, 

51 


Among  French  Inns 

with  all  the  delicacies  of  the  season.  How 
good  everything  tasted  after  our  ride  in  the 
fresh  country  air,  the  soft  scent  of  summer 
everywhere,  the  gentle  greens  of  the  foliage, 
the  brilliant  sunshine;  everything  contrib- 
uting to  the  joy  of  living! 

Lillebonne  is  one  of  the  most  ancient  towns 
of  Normandy,  and  is  charmingly  situated 
among  thickly  wooded  hills,  cut  by  a  verdant 
valley  and  babbling  stream  winding  through 
its  half-hidden  mysteries.  An  iron  railing 
opposite  the  Place  de  THotel  de  Ville  screens 
the  remains  of  an  old  Roman  theatre  and 
baths,  now  dressed  with  the  green  canopy  of 
nature.  Above  these  ruins,  and  in  the  gar- 
den of  a  modern  chateau,  are  the  half-ruined 
remains  of  an  older  castle  built  by  William 
the  Conqueror.  They  include  a  tower  of 
the  thirteenth  century  and  some  picturesque 
walls. 

Long  before  the  Roman  invasion,  Lille- 
bonne, under  the  name  of  Calet,  or  Caletum, 
was  the  capital  of  the  Caletes,  In  fact,  it 
was  one  of  the  cities  of  Gaul,  until  destroyed 
by  Julius  Caesar.  In  the  time  of  Augustus 
it  was  named  Juliobona,  after  his  daughter 
Julia,  and  to  him  was  due  its  reconstruction. 
In    the    eleventh    century,    the    feudal    castle 

52 


»».»<> 


GENERAL  VIEW  OF  LILLEBONNE 


■■-^mim 

^^^   .jM 

'                 :    ^,_  _.       L--j^^^'"^.v-.^,,, 

1      '-^^M^^2^^S%i*?'*^rSi^9GpF?^ 

;^^^..«--> 

REMAINS  OF  OLD  ROMAN  THEATRE,  LILLEBONNE 


MODERN  CHATEAU  AND  TOWER  OF  OLD  CASTLE,  LILLEBONNE 


J«   «  «-J  Jt^^%.      - 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

was  the  scene  of  many  a  court  held  by  the 
Duchy  of  Normandy,  and  it  was  here  that 
plans  for  the  conquest  of  England  were  dis- 
cussed and  formulated. 

The  significance  of  the  history  which 
clings  to  these  ancient  remains  of  Norman 
greatness,  these  places  which  are  to-day  in- 
significant in  themselves,  is  indeed  great,  and 
it  is  interesting  to  observe  them  in  travelling 
through  this  country.  The  world  at  large 
would  hardly  realize  their  existence,  were 
not  an  occasional  pilgrimage  made  to  these 
shrines  of  ancient  power,  in  the  spirit  of 
research  and  antiquarian  pursuit.  Lille- 
bonne  is  one  of  the  most  interesting,  in  point 
of  age,  and  well  repays  a  visit. 

The  ages  have  left  each  some  remem- 
brance of  their  time,  some  gift  to  this  haunt 
of  ancient  days.  The  Roman  civilization 
gave  a  theatre;  the  middle  ages,  a  fortress; 
the  Renaissance,  its  church;  and  the  more 
recent  period,  industrial  establishments. 
These,  in  their  various  functions,  combine  to 
give  it  a  curious  interest,  half-picturesque, 
half-practical,  and  nature  has  done  the  rest, 
and  contributed  the  magic  touch  which  — 

"...  gives  to  airy  nothing 
A  local  habitation  and  a  name.** 

53 


Among  French  Inns 

The  Church  of  Notre  Dame,  which  is  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  deserves  a  passing  word 
of  praise.  Its  spire  is  richly  carved  in  Gothic 
details,  and  rises  gracefully  to  the  left  of  the 
picture  formed  by  the  Place  de  I'Hotel  de 
Ville,  as  we  stand  upon  the  ruins  of  the 
Roman  theatre.  Its  portal  is  worthy  of 
mention,  and  its  interior  contains  some  inter- 
esting stalls  which  were  originally  built  for 
the  Abbey  of  Valasse. 

We  left  the  Hotel  de  France  with  some 
regret  and  attended  by  all  the  members  of 
the  establishment,  the  patron,  the  madame,  — 
always,  or  nearly  always,  the  ruling  spirit 
of  the  hotel  or  cafe  in  France,  —  and  the 
various  other  functionaries  of  the  place,  in- 
cluding a  cat  and  a  dog.  We  departed, 
leaving  madame  counting  the  money,  and  the 
patron  taking  a  glass  of  cider,  —  character- 
istic occupations  throughout  Normandy. 
Indeed,  it  is  strange  in  France  how  the  spirit 
of  thrift  and  finance  will  predominate  in  the 
female  sex,  especially  in  the  lower  classes. 
In  the  hotel  it  is  the  madame  who  keeps  a 
sharp  lookout  on  the  books  and  storeroom. 
In  the  restaurant  the  madame  is  always  be- 
hind the  desk  counting  the  money  and  the 
cheques,  at  the  end  of  the  day's  business.    On 

54 


.»    >       >  > 


CHURCH    OF    NOTRE    DAME,    LILLEBONNE 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

the  farm  she  is  in  the  field,  and  is,  ten  to 
one,  the  financial  head  of  the  family.  She 
is  here,  there,  and  everywhere,  has  a  finger 
in  every  pie  and  a  word  in  every  transaction, 
from  the  moment  the  marriage  contract  is 
signed,  which  ties  her  to  her  spouse  for  better 
or  for  worse. 

The  character  of  the  Norman  is  an  inter- 
esting one  to  study.  He  is  shrewd,  suspicious, 
and  cautious.  He  is  the  Yankee  of  France. 
He  never  commits  himself  if  he  can  possibly 
avoid  it,  and  never  tells  anything  if  he  can 
keep  it  a  secret.  He  is  keen,  retentive,  and 
a  good  business  man.  In  a  word,  he  is  in 
character  what  his  country  is  in  geographical 
position,  —  the  link  between  France  and 
England,  the  stepping-stone  from  the  Latin 
to  the  Anglo-Saxon;  and  as  such  he  is 
extremely  interesting  to  study. 

"  How  much  would  you  take  for  that 
cow?"  said  the  Frenchman,  as  he  stopped  in 
the  road  near  an  old  peasant  who  was  slowly 
prodding  his  animal  with  a  conscious  sense 
of  ownership. 

"  How  much  would  I  take  for  that  cow?  " 
repeated  the  old  fellow,  looking  volumes  of 
suspicion  and  wisdom,  and  putting  his  head 


55 


Among  French  Inns 

on  one  side  as  if  the  fate  of  a  nation  de- 
pended upon  his  answer. 

"  Awh,  well  —  ces  messieurs  are  Anglais?  *' 
And  then  there  was  evidently  a  complete 
change  in  his  ideas,  and  he  shut  up  like  a 
snail  or  a  hedgehog,  and  would  not  commit 
himself  to  anything. 

"  Well,  I  could  not  say,"  he  finally  an- 
swered. "  It  would  depend  on  what  the 
messieurs  were  willing  to  pay  for  it.  But 
that  would  depend;  if  the  messieurs  were 
English,  or  if  the  messieurs  were  French. 
And  it  would  depend  on  the  time  of  year 
and  how  many  cows  were  in  the  market." 
The  old  peasant  looked  so  wise  that  it  seemed 
as  if  his  quaint  form  could  hardly  contain 
all  the  wisdom  there  was  locked  up  in  him. 
So  we  left  him  still  wondering  if  we  had 
found  out  anything  from  him  which  could 
interfere  with  the  sale  of  his  cow. 

"  You  see  the  character,"  said  the  French- 
man, in  triumph,  always  desirous  of  demon- 
strating the  characteristics  of  the  Norman 
people.  "  You  see  the  suspicion.  He  would 
not  have  given  me  a  figure  on  that  cow  if  I 
had  talked  all  the  afternoon,  without  making 
him  an  offer  first." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  the  man.  He  makey 
56 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

the  price  to  suit  the  people  when  the  time 
come,"  said  Pomponi,  with  a  sudden  at- 
tempt at  argument. 

"  I  buy  the  cow  in  Italy  the  same  way;  I 
makey  the  price,  and  he  makey  the  yes  or 
no.    And  there!" 

The  Frenchman  could  only  exclaim  "  By 
example!"  with  an  expression  of  perfect 
disbelief  on  his  face  and  his  eyes  flashing 
catlike  shafts  through  the  air. 

It  was  felt  advisable  to  drop  the  subject  of 
the  cow,  and  the  conversation  was  steered 
upon  some  different  topic.  We  crossed  some 
green  meadows  and  passed  high  steeps  of 
chalk,  and  soon  covered  the  eleven  kilometres 
which  was  the  distance  to  the  village  (little 
more  than  a  hamlet)  of  Tancarville.  It  lies 
in  a  hollow  between  two  hills,  or  rocks,  rising 
directly  above  the  Seine.  On  one  of  these 
the  towers  and  walls  of  the  Chateau  de  Tan- 
carville itself  arise  against  tall  trees,  and 
stand  in  majestic  ruggedness  above  the  quiet 
waters  of  the  river.  The  picture  is  one  of 
sudden  charm  and  contrast  to  the  wooded 
depths  below. 

The  foundations,  ancient  fortifications, 
formed  of  half-ruined  buttresses  and  arches 
against  the  stone,  lift  it  still  higher  in  the 

57 


Among  French  Inns 

air  and  lend  imagination  to  its  effect.  They 
are  in  strange  contrast  to  the  more  modern 
chateau  above  them,  and  show  at  once  the 
work  of  different  centuries  in  creating  what 
is  left  to-day.  The  castle  dates  back  as  early 
as  the  twelfth  century,  though  it  is  chiefly 
of  the  thirteenth.  Some  authorities  ascribe 
its  birth  to  the  tirrie  of  Henry  I.,  the  last  of 
the  sons  of  William  the  Conqueror;  and 
indeed  the  feudal  character  of  the  ancient 
fortress  would  incline  us  to  believe  this  to 
be  so. 

It  has  had  a  considerable  history,  the  orig- 
inal feudal  stronghold  having  been  the  almost 
inaccessible  abode  of  the  famous  family  of 
the  Tancarvilles.  Up  to  1320  it  remained  in 
their  possession,  and  was  the  theatre  of  many 
mediaeval  events,  situated  as  it  was  on  the 
borders  of  the  river  and  commanding  so 
advantageous  a  position.  In  later  years  it 
was  owned  by  the  houses  of  Harcourt  and 
Longueville,  as  well  as  the  De  la  Tour  d^Au- 
vergnes  and  the  De  Montmorencies. 

The  tower  at  the  southern  angle  of  the 
chateau  is  the  most  ancient  portion  of  this 
interesting  ruin,  and  was  originally  orna- 
mented with  the  armorial  bearings  of  the 
Tancarvilles.     These   have   long  since  been 

•58 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

effaced  by  time,  and  the  hand  of  man,  ever 
eager  to  destroy  that  which  his  predecessor 
has  created.  The  newer  chateau,  which  rises 
above  the  mediaeval  fortifications,  is  to-day 
also  crumbling  into  ruin  and  decay. 

We  were  all  naturally  interested  in  this 
picturesque  pile,  as  it  was  the  first  Norman 
chateau,  with  any  pretension  of  being  some- 
thing more  than  ruins,  that  we  had  seen, 
and  we  stopped  at  the  Hotel  du  Havre,  in 
the  hamlet,  only  long  enough  to  brush  the 
dust  —  or  part  of  it — from  our  shoulders 
before  we  investigated  it  in  detail. 

'^  We  seem  to  be  working  backward,"  said 
the  Englishman,  as  he  assisted  the  count  and 
Mrs.  Wilton  to  mount  the  steep  incline. 

"  Rather  hard  to  find  anything  that  is  not 
a  ruin,  this  morning,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Perhaps  if  we  look  long  enough  we  shall 
find  a  real  live  chateau,  all  full  of  people 
and  kept  as  it  should  be,"  replied  Miss 
Wilton,  with  a  charming  smile,  which  sent 
shivers  of  delight  and  rhapsody  down  the 
fat  back  of  Pomponi,  and  left  apparently 
no  impression  upon  the  impregnable  Briton. 

"He  is  like  the  Rock  of  Gibraltar,"  whis- 
pered Mrs.  Wilton,  as  we  pushed  her  up  the 
hill. 

59 


Among  French  Inns 

"  They  are  all  like  Gibraltars,  detached 
from  the  mainland  and  completely  sur- 
rounded by  water." 

"  It  seems  they  have  a  wonderful  charac- 
ter, the  English,"  whispered  back  the  count  in 
French,  "  only  so  difficult  to  understand ; 
always  silent,  always  composed.  The  fire 
is  always  within,  never  without.  One  never 
knows  what  they  feel." 

"That  is  like  the  Norman,"  said  the 
Frenchman.  > 

Some  of  us  had  our  doubts,  and  these 
brought  us  to  the  court  of  the  chateau  and 
the  thoughts  of  its  beauty.  There  is  nothing 
to  cause  one  to  remember  the  present  at 
Tancarville;  there  is  everything  to  recall  the 
past.  Pictures  of  the  days  of  chivalry  arise 
to  the  mind  on  viewing  this  historic  debris 
of  other  centuries.  Visions  of  Raoul,  son  of 
Gerald,  and  grand  chamberlain  to  William 
the  Conqueror,  who  was  the  founder  of  the 
house  of  Tancarville,  pass  before  the  eye.  It 
was  here  that  William  de  Tancarville,  the 
last  of  his  race,  died  in  the  early  part  of  the 
fourteenth  century;  and  here,  likewise, 
passed  the  heroine  of  the  Fronde. 

We  might  linger  too  long  were  we  to  write 
the  history  of  this  place  in  its  entirety.     But 

60 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

we  are  here  only  for  a  passing  glance  into 
the  past.  The  view  of  the  Seine,  its  blue 
waters  dotted  with  yellow  shallows  of  sand, 
the  sail  of  a  passing  boat,  the  life  of  the 
hamlet  below,  all  distract  the  eye  and  the 
imagination,  and  we  must  away. 

"Is  it  not  lovely?"  said  Miss  Wilton, 
softly.  "  I  hate  to  leave  it,  and  yet  I  suppose 
we  must." 

"I  am  afraid  so,"  said  the  Englishman; 
and  they  followed  the  others  back  to  the 
inn. 

"  But  it  really  isn't  an  inn,"  said  Mrs. 
Wilton,  in  despair.  "  And  what  is  more, 
they  tell  me  it  is  not  always  open.  My 
opinion  is,  that  they  only  take  people  when 
they  feel  like  it  at  these  places  in  Normandy. 
What  do  you  think,  count?  " 

The  count  did  not  think.  He  was  too  hot 
and  out  of  breath  to  do  anything  but  call 
for  a  glass  of  white  wine. 

^^  G^est  le  cidre,  que  son  Excellence  devrait 
buaire/'  said  mine  host  in  his  funny  accent. 

"  Oh,  the  cider,  it  is  too  hard  for  the  head," 
replied  his  Excellency;  "  I  must  have  some- 
thing that  is  light  and  quenches  the  thirst." 

And  so  the  thirst  was  quenched,  and  he 
was  again  packed  into  his  tonneau  with  his 

6i 


Among  French  Inns 

indulgent  hostess,  and  off  we  all  went  toward 
the  Chateau  d'Etelan,  not  very  far  away. 

A  little  distance  from  Tancarville  is  the 
steamboat  landing  of  Quilleboeuf,  where  the 
steamers  stop  on  their  way  from  Havre  to 
Rouen. 

"  We  might  take  one  and  go  on  to  Rouen, 
and  telegraph  Blodget  to  meet  us  there  with 
the  trunks,"  suggested  Mrs.  Wilton;  but 
the  count  was  not  anxious  to  try  the  river, 
and  we  proceeded  on  our  way. 

There  is  a  certain  difficulty  in  any  form 
of  very  rapid  locomotion  over  the  roads  of 
Normandy,  and  that  is  the  succession  of 
short,  steep  hills  that  are  to  be  encountered 
wherever  one  goes.*  The  country  being  al- 
ways hilly,  these  will  be  found  a  continual 
objection  to  the  tourist  who  is  fond  of  speed- 
ing. However,  if  not  so  inclined,  the  pleas- 
ure of  passing  through  the  country,  to  any 
one  who  is  fond  of  picturesque  and  rural 
scenery,  is,  and  always  must  be,  great. 

The  small  hills  succeed  one  another  in  a 
series  of  undulations;  to  use  the  words  of 
Anacreon,  like  ^'  rolling  persuasion,"  ever 
enticing  the  eye  to  look  beyond.  In  spring 
the  innumerable  apple-orchards  make  the 
w^hole    province    a    continuous    bouquet    of 

62 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

blossoms,  varying  from  deep  pink  to  white, 
and  interspersed  with  green.  In  its  natural 
characteristics  Normandy  suggests  the  county 
of  Kent  in  England,  only  here  the  orchards 
take  the  place  of  the  hop-vines  that  are  every- 
where to  be  seen  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Channel. 

The  journey  from  Havre  to  Rouen  by  rail 
is  a  delightful  series  of  views,  at  any  time 
between  the  months  of  March  and  November. 
The  quaint  villages,  the  green  hillsides 
clothed  with  verdure,  the  moss-like  ravines, 
the  streams  and  murmuring  brooks,  the  plas- 
ter-covered walls  crowned  with  green  or 
flowers,  the  spires  of  the  churches  —  all  con- 
tribute in  effect  to  delight  the  senses  with 
their  charm  and  rural  simplicity.  For  every- 
thing is  domestic  rather  than  grandiose, 
picturesque  rather  than  imaginative,  quaint 
rather  than  attired  in  glory.  It  is  utterly 
different  from  Touraine  or  Brittany,  and  pos- 
sesses a  character  and  fascination  entirely  its 
own.  To  those  who  seek  a  restful  moment 
or  a  picture  to  delight  the  soul,  no  better 
place  can  draw  the  weary  worker  than  this 
lovely  country.  No  haunts  of  man  can  have 
a  sound  more  glad  than  Nature's  call  to 
Normandy. 

63 


Among  French  Inns 

Normandy!  What  a  wealth  of  significance 
the  word  possesses,  and  yet  how  genial  is 
the  sound!  It  has  been  sung  of  in  the  ages. 
It  has  produced  its  heroes  and  its  kings,  and 
has  shared  in  the  councils  of  the  nation  of 
which  it  forms  so  notable  a  part. 

Let  all  the  world  make  holiday  with  thee. 
And  hie,  in  summer's  smiles,  to  Normandy  ! 

And  yet  it  is  surprising  how  few  the  tour- 
ists that  disturb  our  path,  and  how  little 
the  inns  and  hotels  are  crowded  by  the 
throngs  that  flock  to  Switzerland  or  else- 
where in  the  warmer  months.  Perhaps  it  is 
one  of  the  greatest  advantages  in  travelling 
through  this  part  of  France.  There  is  no 
place  where  the  herd  of  sightseers  tramples 
upon  one's  sensibilities,  or  disturbs  the  even 
tenor  of  one's  temper.  The  visitor  is  free 
to  roam  at  will  and  find  the  joy  of  living 
and  of  keeping  holiday  in  peace. 

As  we  speed  onward,  our  thoughts  recur 
involuntarily  to  the  winding  road  that  leads 
from  the  hamlet  to  the  Chateau  of  Tancar- 
ville,  to  the  three  towers  named,  respectively, 
Carree,  Coquesart,  and  L'Aigle,  to  its  white 
walls  (defying  our  knowledge  of  its  age)  in 
such  striking  contrast  to  the  green  about  it. 

64 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

We  see  again  in  the  mind's  eye  the  newer 
chateau  built  by  Louis  de  la  Tour  d'Au- 
vergne,  Comte  d'Evreux,  and  the  forms  of 
Jean  d'Orleans,  son  of  the  Due  de  Longue- 
ville,  and  his  wife,  Louise  de  Bourbon-Sois- 
sons,  seeking  solitude  in  its  hidden  depths. 

There  are,  however,  other  places  to  inter- 
est us,  and  one  of  these  is  now  at  hand.  It 
is  the  Chateau  d'Etelan,  also  on  the  borders 
of  the  Seine  and  near  Norville.  It  is  situated 
at  a  point  where  the  river  makes  its  last  turn, 
before  widening  to  meet  the  Channel.  It  is 
a  veritable  gem  of  the  Renaissance,  and  well 
merits  a  visit. 

"Oh,  how  charming!"  exclaimed  Miss 
Wilton  as  it  came  into  view.  "  How  I 
should  like  to  live  there!" 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  said  her  more  practical 
mother,  "  but  you  would  find  it  fearfully 
cold  in  winter,  without  any  furnace  or  mod- 
ern conveniences.  Think  of  it,  my  dear 
Gladys;  why,  you  would  die  of  rheumatism 
and  tonsilitis.  You  know  how  delicate  your 
throat  is." 

"  Of  course  there  is  no  chance  of  my  do- 
ing so,  mamma,"  said  her  daughter;  "so 
there  is  little  need  to  worry." 

"  In  the  winter  you  will  be  roasting  to 
65 


Among  French  Inns 

death  in  the  American  house,"  exclaimed 
Count  Romeo  in  deep  concern.  He  had  been 
brought  up  in  the  cold  palaces  of  Italy,  and 
being  stout,  had  been  unable  to  receive  any 
real  comfort  from  the  extreme  warmth  of 
the  American  houses  and  buildings.  Steam- 
heat  was  to  him  a  source  of  unutterable  dis- 
comfort, and  the  very  mention  of  a  furnace 
set  him  thinking  of  past  sufferings. 

"Oh,  the  heat!  it  gives  the  apoplexy  to 
the  head,  and  the  heart,  he  jumps  and  beats 
in  the  side  like  a  polichinelle.  I  can  do,  in 
the  hot  room,"  meaning  thereby,  that  he  was 
more  at  his  ease  with  the  temperature  be- 
tween forty  and  fifty  degrees. 

"  You  see,  count,  young  blood  is  warm," 
said  the  Englishman.  "  We  like  cold  rooms 
in  England,  also.  So  much  more  healthy, 
you  know.  I  always  take  a  cold  tub,  with 
the  window  wide  open,  winter  or  summer." 

"  Ah,  you  are  the  wisdom,"  shouted  Pom- 
poni,  in  ecstasy  at  the  thought;  for  the  mid- 
day sun  was  very  warm,  and  he  longed  for 
a  white  cotton  parasol  lined  with  green,  lest 
the  rays  should  cause  him  to  regret  his  ride. 

"  Come,  now.  Count  di  Pomponi,"  said 
Mrs.  Wilton,  persuasively,  "  you  know  you 
like  to  be  warm  in  winter,  and  not  frozen 

66 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

to  death  in  a  room  like  an  ice-box;  don't 
you?" 

By  this  time  we  were  in  front  of  the  cha- 
teau, and  the  conversation  turned  toward  this 
charming  and  picturesque  monument  of  the 
Renaissance,  dressed  in  Gothic  details.  The 
square  tower  of  the  building  has  some  orna- 
mented buttresses  and  other  carving  to  enrich 
it,  while  the  two  windows  of  the  roof  on  the 
left  are  beautiful  examples  of  sculpture.  On 
the  end  of  the  building  is  the  chapel,  form- 
ing part  of  the  main  construction,  with  long 
Gothic  windows  to  denote  its  presence.  It 
is,  on  the  whole,  a  pleasing  exterior,  and  one 
bearing  a  certain  element  of  the  picturesque 
with  it,  the  mixture  of  Gothic  and  Renais- 
sance detail,  especially  in  the  ornamentation 
of  the  roof,  making  an  agreeable  combina- 
tion. 

The  party  was  not  allowed  to  remain  too 
long  in  contemplation  of  the  picturesque  and 
rural  surroundings  of  the  Chateau  d'Etelan. 
Time  was  an  object,  and  Mrs.  Blodget  Wil- 
ton was  not  a  woman  to  ignore  time,  even 
when  immersed  in  the  pleasures  of  such 
places  as  this.  As  she  had  assumed  complete 
control  of  the  movements  of  the  company, 
and  relegated  the  Frenchman  to  a  subservient 

67 


Among  French  Inns 

position,  the  wheels  of  the  automobiles  were 
soon  in  motion,  and  the  trees  and  grass  went 
flying  past  the  bewildered  eyes  of  the  poor 
count  in  a  manner  that  fairly  terrified  that 
eminently  comfortable   personage. 

"  Santo  Domingo!  What  a  wizz  —  "  And 
in  another  instant  his  Excellency's  best  white 
sombrero  was  wafted  from  his  head  over 
the  summer  zephyrs  and  deposited,  many 
rods  behind,  in  a  muddy  stream  beside  the 
road.  As  the  chauffeur  was  unable  to  leave 
the  machine,  the  gallant  Count  Romeo  was 
obliged  to  waddle  back  to  it  and  dig  it  out 
with  some  difficulty,  aided  by  the  efforts  of 
two  children  who  had  run  from  a  cottage 
near  by. 

"  Oi,  oi,  oi,  oil"  shouted  the  gallant 
Romeo. 

"  Tiens!  It  is  the  hat  of  Pomponi,"  cried 
the  Frenchman,  in  delight  at  the  discomfort 
of  his  Excellency.  ''  That  is  what  he  re- 
ceives for  wearing  a  sombrero  in  the  auto- 
mobile.   Mon  oncle  Hippolite  always  —  " 

"  Oh,  never  mind  about  your  uncle  Hip- 
polite,"  interrupted  the  commanding  voice  of 
Mrs.  Wilton.  "  Get  out  at  once  and  go  to 
Count  di  Pomponi's  assistance.  He  needs 
you.     I  know  he  will  fall  into  that  water  in 

68 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

another  minute;  and  then  we  shall  have  an 
awful  time  getting  him  dry,"  and  she  be- 
gan to  laugh  at  the  idea. 

The  Frenchman  darted  to  the  side  of  Pom- 
poni,  and  seizing  him  by  the  arm,  endeav- 
oured to  extricate  him  from  his  perilous  posi- 
tion on  the  edge  of  the  water.  For  a  moment 
the  two  showed  evident  signs  of  falling  in 
together;  but  fate  intervened  to  prevent  so 
great  a  tragedy,  and  the  two  were  at  last  on 
the  road  again,  with  the  hat  on  the  head  of 
the  count. 

"  Oi,  oi,  oil  The  water  drips  in  the  back 
and  tickles  me  under  the  collar,"  he  moaned 
piteously,  endeavouring  to  stop  the  tiny 
waterfalls  with  a  flowered  handkerchief  of 
lavender  hue. 

"  I  do  not  see  that  we  can  do  anything 
about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton,  still  laughing. 
"  You  might  take  it  off  and  tie  my  lace  veil 
over  your  head,  if  that  would  do  any  good." 

"  Oh,  madame,  you  are  too  simpatica/* 
sighed  his  bedraggled  Excellency;  "and  the 
new  sombrero,  too,  it  was  —  So  then,"  and 
he  took  it  off,  and  was  soon  tied  up  in  the 
brown  veil,  which  covered  him  completely. 

The  next  stopping-place  was  the  little 
town  of  Bolbec,  situated  some  distance  to  the 

69 


Among  French  Inns 

northwest  of  Norville.  It  is  now  chiefly  an 
industrial  centre,  with  Lillebonne  as  an  off- 
shoot to  its  manufacturing  establishments, 
although  it  dates  back  as  far  as  the  tenth 
century.  The  present  town  was  built  up 
by  the  Protestants  after  1765,  and  has  been, 
since  then,  a  great  centre  of  Protestantism 
in  Normandy. 

The  ancient  family  of  the  seigniors  of 
Bolbec  was  the  parent  of  the  great  houses  of 
Longueville  and  Buckingham,  but  the  his- 
tory of  the  town  itself  has  little  or  nothing 
of  a  feudal  character  to  interest  or  attract 
the  student.  The  place  was  entirely  des- 
troyed by  fire  in  the  years  of  1676  and 
1696,  and  it  is  to  the  large  number  of  Prot- 
estant families  who  settled  there  after  the 
Edict  of  Nantes,  and  gave  themselves  up 
to  industrial  pursuits,  that  it  owes  its  present 
position.  In  these  hands  rest  its  present  and 
its  future,  though  the  following  lines  of  a 
poet  have  been  quoted  by  a  writer  of  the 
fourteenth  century  in  this  connection: 

"  Non,  I'avenir  n'est  a  personne, 
Sire,  I'avenir  est  a  Dieu  !  " 

Its  future,  however,  would  seem  to  promise 
more  than  its  past  has  produced.     Its  only 

70 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

artistic  possessions  of  interest  are  two  foun- 
tains which  originally  ornamented  the  gar- 
dens of  Marly.  One  represents  a  figure  of 
Time  supporting  the  Arts,  the  other  a  figure 
of  Diana.  They  are  beautiful  examples  and 
worth  observing.  Mrs.  Blodget  Wilton 
wished  she  could  buy  them  and  carry  them 
back  to  America,  and  at  the  moment  longed 
for  her  better  half  to  enter  into  negotiations 
with  the  authorities,  with  a  view  to  making 
a  bargain.  The  Frenchman  was  highly 
amused  at  the  idea,  and  was  led  into  giving 
the  party  a  delightful  description  of  Marly 
itself  and  its  original  glories.  The  ladies 
were  fascinated  by  it,  and  delighted  with 
the  intelligent  and  witty  conversation  of  their 
pseudo-guide,  for  he  possessed  that  quality 
of  quick-wittedness  which  is  a  part  of  his 
race  and  which  is  always  acceptable  to  ladies. 

There  was  no  question  about  it,  the  French- 
man could  make  himself  a  charming  and 
agreeable  companion  when  he  wished  to,  and 
could  leave  the  more  amiable  but  less  subtle 
Pomponi  almost  in  the  shade,  for  the  time 
being. 

A  few  kilometres  northwest  of  Bolbec,  and 
midway  between  it  and  Etretat,  is  the  small 
town   of   Goderville,   which   owes   its   name 

71 


Among  French  Inns 

to  the  ancient  and  illustrious  family  of 
Godard.  The  Godards  had  their  origin 
during  the  Gaulic-Roman  epoch,  and  became 
extinct  sometime  during  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury. They  were  at  one  time,  according  to 
certain  authorities,  allied  to  the  ancient 
Kings  of  Yvetot,  and  were  one  of  the  most 
obscure  and  interesting  of  the  historic  Nor- 
man houses.  The  original  manoir  of  the 
Barons  of  Goderville  is  still  in  existence 
to-day.  It  is  a  heavy  construction  in  brick 
and  stone,  surrounded  by  moats,  and  is  used 
as  a  departmental  barrack. 

Close  to  Goderville  is  the  village  and 
church  of  Breaute,  whose  chief  interest  lies 
in  the  associations  attached  to  the  celebrated 
Sires  de  Breaute,  who  were  connected  by 
marriage  with  the  most  historic  and  impor- 
tant families  of  Normandy.  These  included 
such  names  as  Crequi,  Bethencourt,  Breze, 
Aumont,  and  Estouteville,  and  the  seigniories 
of  Neville,  —  by  an  alliance  with  Agnes  de 
Neville  in  1282,  —  names  less  familiar  to  the 
world  to-day  than  to  the  student  of  genealogy, 
but  pregnant  with  significance  in  their  rela- 
tion to  the  history  of  Normandy. 

As  in  its  relation  to  the  world  at  large  the 
most  important  event  in  the  history  of  this 

72 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

famous  province  may  be  said  to  be  the 
Conquest  of  England,  so  we  find  in  study- 
ing the  names  of  those  who  have  contributed 
more  largely  to  its  glory  the  origin  of  the 
greatest  names  of  England  itself.  From 
Normandy  they  have  sprung,  transplanted  by 
William  the  Conqueror  to  the  opposite  shores 
of  the  Channel,  and  there  producing  the 
natural  fruits  of  their  greatness  and  their 
blood.  The  chief  representatives  of  Eng- 
land's glorious  past  find,  in  the  decayed  or 
dying  remains  of  these  Norman  strongholds, 
their  birthplace  and  their  beginning.  A 
pilgrimage  to  their  shrine  repays  the  pil- 
grim who  bears  a  spark  of  ancestral  or  his- 
toric worship  —  noble  in  itself  as  in  its 
influence  upon  the  minds  of  men  —  and 
brings  to  light  a  world  of  hidden  memories 
and  names.     Here  he  may  pause  and  sing: 

Awake  again,  thou  spark  of  magic  fire, 

That  causes  man  his  fellows  to  inspire  ! 

Oh,  tear  these  mists  that  blind  his  sightless  eyes, 

And  raise  once  more  his  efforts  to  the  skies ! 


Here  let  us  linger  with  the  crowned  gods  ; 
To  join  the  humble  pilgrim,  as  he  plods 
The  steep  and  thorny  path  that  leads  to  fame, 
And  know  at  last  the  glory  of  a  name. 

73 


Among  French  Inns 

Each  portion  of  France  seems  to  possess 
its  special  figures  of  history  belonging  to 
different  periods,  and  peculiarly  associated 
with  the  distinct  epochs  which  they  have 
represented.  In  Touraine  everything  breathes 
the  air  and  atmosphere  of  the  Renaissance. 
Frangois  I.,  Catherine  de  Medicis,  Henry 
III.,  and  the  Louis',  are  everywhere  por- 
trayed and  brought  before  the  visitor. 

In  Normandy  it  is  the  Conquest,  with  the 
great  epic  figure  of  the  Conqueror  predomi- 
nant, like  some  majestic  deity  hovering  over 
the  later  history  of  the  duchy,  and  with  the 
illustrious  line  of  his  predecessors  as  a  back- 
ground. Around  this  foundation  are  grouped 
those  other  personages  who  have  so  vitally 
associated  their  names  with  such  historic 
events  as  Hastings,  Courtray,  Harfleur,  Mon- 
thery,  and  a  host  of  others.  The  luxurious 
Renaissance  gives  way  to  the  stern  yet  chival- 
rous character  of  the  feudal  period.  And  its 
contemplation,  like  the  influence  of  the 
Puritans  in  later  centuries,  gives  to  the  heart 
a  feeling  of  virile  strength  and  manhood, 
which,  if  less  easy  in  its  touch,  is  yet  filled 
with  force,  and  potent  in  the  significance  of 
its  results. 

Such,  to  the  Anglo-Saxon,  is  perhaps  the 
74 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

chief  comparative  interest  in  the  study  of 
these  rural  haunts  of  Normandy,  now  the 
smiling  and  simple  exponents  of  a  past  as 
great  as  any  corner  of  the  world  may  boast. 
To  the  thoughtful,  it  acts  as  an  allegory  upon 
the  characters  of  men,  teaching  a  silent  yet 
eloquent  lesson  to  the  observer  of  its  past  and 
present  life.  The  very  domesticity  of  its 
appearance  to-day  adds  to  the  feeling  which 
it  inspires  in  the  breast,  and  causes  its  signifi- 
cance to  sink  yet  deeper  in  the  mind:  France 
of  yesterday  the  creator  of  the  Anglo-Saxon 
races  of  to-day. 

With  these  thoughts  we  approach  the 
heights  which  bring  us  once  more  to  the 
bare  and  bolder  spaces  of  the  coast,  and 
yonder  find  the  little  seaside  resort  of 
fitretat,  toward  which  we  have  been  directing 
our  energies.  In  a  moment  the  scene  shifts 
into  modern  life,  and  the  mood,  perforce,  has 
changed  with  its  approach.  The  automobiles 
drew  up  before  the  door  of  the  Hotel  Blan- 
quet,  and  the  whole  party  alighted  to  investi- 
gate the  town  and  the  beach. 

fitretat  is  a  quaint  little  fishing  village, 
situated  in  a  valley  between  the  high  hills 
and  cliffs  that  border  upon  the  sea.  It  has 
become    known    through     the    writings    of 

75 


Among  French  Inns 

Alphonse  Karr,  who  has  done  much  to  inter- 
est visitors  in  these  seaside  places  near  Havre. 
They  possess  a  charm  which  well  merits 
his  praise,  and  have  become  a  curious  mixture 
of  the  simple  life  of  the  humblest  of  fisher- 
men with  the  riches  and  fashion  that  are 
drawn  to  them  in  summer-time. 

It  being  the  season,  the  host  of  the  Hotel 
Blanquet  made  the  party  welcome,  and  the 
count  was  soon  enjoying  a  refreshing  draught, 
and  the  other  members  of  the  excursion  their 
several  favourite  ingredients.  Our  host  was 
ready  to  point  out  the  interesting  features  of 
fitretat,  which  lie  more  in  its  natural  advan- 
tages than  in  historical  monuments  or  events. 

"  What  a  quaint  little  place  it  is,  and  how 
pretty  the  village  is,  nestling  into  this  valley 
between  the  hills,"  said  Miss  Wilton. 

"  But,  my  dear,  I  do  not  think  it  would 
be  nearly  as  gay  as  Trouville,"  remarked  her 
mother,  who  was  taking  in  the  practical 
possibilities  of  the  place  at  a  glance.  She 
had  already  made  up  her  mind  that  it  would 
never  do  as  a  place  of  continued  residence. 
Her  nature  sought  more  advanced  and 
sophisticated  pleasures  than  the  life  of  this 
peaceful  resort. 

"  When  we  arrive  at  Trouville  I  will  ask 
76 


< 
H 

(X] 

H 
»W 

W 
& 
O* 

« 
u 

H 

<o 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

the  Duchesse  de  V to  invite  you  all  to 

stay  in  her  villa,  and  then  w^e  shall  have  a 
very  gay  time.  I  had  a  letter  from  her  yes- 
terday, and  she  said  she  hoped  Gladys  and 
I  would  come,  and  bring  some  amusing  men 
v^ith  us." 

"  Oh,  the  duchesse!  I  loave  the  duchesse," 
said  the  enthusiastic  Romeo,  glad  at  the 
thought  of  being  entertained  and  circulating 
among  the  ladies,  and  showing  off  his  won- 
drous costumes  and  summer  flannels.  He 
was  to  vie  with  the  Frenchman  in  the  glories 
of  eccentric  Continental  attire,  so  dear  to  the 
heart  of  the  fashionable  Latin,  and  so  sur- 
prising to  the  Anglo-Saxon  of  good  taste 
and  breeding. 

As  they  sauntered  along  the  water-front, 
his  eye  caught  sight  of  a  Frenchman  in  the 
full  glory  of  a  summer  bicycle  outfit,  parad- 
ing about  in  perfect  confidence  that  he  was 
attracting  the  attention  and  admiration  of 
his  countrymen  —  and  women. 

"  Ah,  how  well  they  put  themselves," 
exclaimed  Romeo,  in  appreciation  of  the 
sight;  "how  well  they  put  themselves,  in 
summer.  That  is  what  I  would  say  is  a 
]oli  garqon!' 

We  looked  and  beheld  the  '' ]Qli  garqon'' 
77 


Among  French  Inns 

a.  man  of  some  forty  summers,  his  face  cov- 
ered with  a  silky,  virgin  beard,  black  and 
apparently  moth-eaten,  his  form  clothed  in 
a  so-called  suit  of  knickerbockers  covered 
with  an  immense  black  and  white  check,  the 
trousers  gathered  at  the  knee  by  an  elastic 
band.  White  cotton  stockings  draped  his 
sinewy  limbs.  Cheap  rubber-soled  shoes  en- 
cased his  feet.  A  brilliant  pink  shirt,  a  large 
fluffy  tie,  and  huge  boutonniere  of  the  same 
colour  completed  this  singular  costume.  His 
hair,  "  en  brosse/'  as  well  as  the  fierce  black 
mustachios  upon  his  upper  lip,  gave  him  a 
chivalrous  and  nonchalant  air.  Such  was  the 
''joli  garqon''  of  Count  Romeo  di  Pomponi's 
ideas.  He  might  well  have  stepped  out  of 
some  comic  opera  in  America;  but  here  he 
seemed  perfectly  at  ease,  and  appeared  to  fit 
into  the  landscape  as  naturally  as  could  be. 

"  My  senses,  what  a  man!  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Wilton.  "  Why,  I  should  call  him  a  figure 
of  fun.  His  clothes  look  as  if  they  were  made 
by  a  dressmaker,  instead  of  a  tailor.  Count, 
I  am  surprised  at  your  taste." 

^'  Ah,  that  is  what  I  call  a  '  joli  gargon,' " 
replied  the  count,  and  the  subject  was  al- 
lowed to  drop. 

fitretat  has   many   charming  things   about 

78 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

it.  TTie  sunsets  are  beautiful,  and  reflect 
the  colours  of  the  western  sky  in  the  water, 
rippling  and  dancing  in  the  soft  light  of 
an  afternoon.  The  high  meadows  above 
reach  to  the  very  edge  of  the  cliffs,  white  and 
chalky,  and  unlike  the  American  coast,  yet 
still  different  from  the  white  cliffs  of  Eng- 
land. 

On  either  side  of  the  bay  these  cliffs  arise, 
high  above  the  sea,  which  has  torn  great 
arches  under  them  in  a  curious  and  impos- 
ing formation,  like  some  watery  cave  which 
holds  its  deep  and  hidden  mysteries.  In 
winter  the  storms  rage  about  them,  but  in 
summer  all  is  smiling  nature  and  a  genial 
sight. 

**  I  should  like  a  whiskey  and  soda,  if  you 
please,"  said  the  Englishman  to  the  waiter, 
as  the  party  returned  to  the  Hotel  Blanquet. 

"  Un  whiskie  et  soda?  *'  queried  the 
waiter  in  amazement.  "  Oh,  that  we  have 
not.  Perhaps  monsieur  will  take  a  coffee  and 
some  liqueur,  or  some  good  cider,  fresh 
made?" 

"  My  dear   Lord   F ,"  broke   in   Mrs. 

Wilton,  "  don't  you  know  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  a  whiskey  and  soda  in  this  part  of 


79 


Among  French  Inns 

the  world?  Why,  they  do  not  know  what 
the  word  means.'' 

"  Ah,  madame,  we  have  the  soda,  but  the 
whiskie,  that  is  something  only  drunk  by 
les  Anglais,  la  has! '' 

"Yes,  that  is  right;  they  only  have  the 
whiskey,  '  la  has! '  Take  some  coffee  in- 
stead." 

Accordingly,  the  Englishman  took  coffee, 
which  was  served  in  a  long,  tapering  glass 
instead  of  a  cup,  which  he  could  not  seem 
to  understand  at  all. 

"  Will  madame  stay  over  night?  "  asked  the 
host,  with  an  engaging  smile. 

"No,  not  to-day,"  answered  Mrs.  Wilton; 
"  we  have  no  baggage ;  but  we  will  come 
back  some  other  time.  Send  for  the  auto- 
mobiles, and  we  will  start  for  Fecamp." 

"  Well,"  said  the  Frenchman,  "  will  you 
all  come?"  And  we  all  proceeded  to  dress 
ourselves  up  so  as  to  be  unrecognizable  by 
the  ordinary  mortal. 

It  is  only  a  few  kilometres  to  Fecamp, 
which,  in  some  respects,  is  a  more  important 
place  than  fitretat,  and  it  was  not  long  before 
we  were  in  the  town  itself.  There  are  three 
hotels  in  Fecamp,  the  Canchy  and  the 
Chariot  d'Or,  both  of  which  are  good.     We 

80 


In  Search  of  an  Inn 

decided,  however,  to  "  descend  "  at  the  Grand 
Cerf,  which  is  a  curious  old  house  opposite 
the  abbey.  Here  Mr.  Wilton  had  already 
arrived  with  the  "  immediate  luggage,"  and 
engaged  the  best  rooms  that  there  were. 

"  I  certainly  thought  you  would  all  break 
down,  somewhere,  and  be  brought  on  here  in 
pieces,"  said  he,  as  we  met  at  the  door  of 
the  inn. 

"No  such  luck,"  said  the  Englishman; 
and  soon  all  had  gone  to  their  rooms  to 
clean  off  the  dust  of  the  day's  excursion,  and 
prepare   for   another  on   the   morrow. 


8r 


CHAPTER    III 

AT    THE    HOTEL    DU    GRAND  CERF 
Fecamp 

This  charming  and  picturesque  old  house 
is  the  oldest  hotel  in  Fecamp,  and  a  typical 
French  inn.  It  was  known  originally  under 
the  name  of  L'Hotellerie,  du  Grand  Cerf, 
and  has  an  interesting  history  attached  to  it. 
It  was  the  ancient  treasury  of  the  Benedictine 
monks,  dating  from  the  fourteenth  century, 
and  it  was  here  that  Frangois  I.  stayed  when 
he  visited  Fecamp.  To-day  it  is  a  delightful 
old  timbered  building  with  heavy  cornices 
and  windows  in  the  roof.  The  principal  en- 
trance is  through  the  driveway  into  the  court, 
like  so  many  of  the  French  inns  and  hotels. 
It  presents  a  distinct  contrast  to  the  buildings 
on  either  side  of  it  on  the  paved  street,  and, 
at  a  glance,  tells  of  age  and  mellow  hospi- 
tality, and  quaint  characters  and  associations. 

"  We  must  take  a  walk  about  the  place 
and  see  what  it  is  like,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton,  the 
next  morning,  as  we  met  for  the  day. 

82 


»      »      > 


CL, 

<; 
u 

Bi 
a 
u 

Q 

< 

o 

Q 
H 

<o 


V„  o       *f    ,.     B 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

"  I  saw  all  I  wanted  of  it  yesterday,"  said 
her  husband.  "  While  you  are  sightseeing, 
I  shall  go  in  bathing.  It's  so  warm,  I  would 
like  to  get  cool,  and  the  salt  water  will  do 
me  good.  Come  with  me,  count.  •  It  will 
make  you  feel  like  a  king." 

"  What  a  curious  old  place  this  is,"  said 
Miss  Wilton,  who  had  just  appeared,  look- 
ing as  fresh  and  lovely  as  a  summer  rose. 
"  Good  morning,  papa." 

"  Kiss  your  mother,  Gladys,  and  tell  me 
whether  my  hat  is  on  straight,"  interrupted 
Mrs.  Wilton.  "  It  was  impossible  to  see 
anything  in  my  glass,  and  Cecile  has  dis- 
appeared. I  didn't  know  where  to  find 
anything." 

Mrs.  Wilton  had  on  a  wonderful  creation 
which  covered  her  head  with  lace  and  imi- 
tation grapes  and  flowers  falling  down  be- 
hind, making  her  look  like  a  veritable  flower- 
garden. 

"  This  certainly  is  a  fascinating  old  inn," 
said  the  Frenchman.  "  I  remember  coming 
here  years  ago  and  having  a  bottle  of  Bur- 
gundy with  the  landlord.  He  was  famous 
for  his  Burgundy,  and  his  stories.  I  remem- 
ber his  telling  me  that  Beau  Brummel  came 
here  once,  and  the  interesting  anecdotes  he 

83 


Among  French  Inns 

told.  When  we  arrive  at  the  Hotel  d'Angle- 
terre,  at  Caen,  we  shall  see  the  apartments 
which  he  occupied  there,  after  he  had  left 
England  —  like  the  Conqueror  —  to  die.  in 
Normandy." 

"  I  declare,  it  is  a  funny  old  place,"  said 
Mr.  Wilton,  "  all  passages  and  turns  and 
quaint  rooms.  I  rather  like  it.  And  they 
gave  us  a  very  good  dinner  last  night,  on  the 
whole;   didn't  they?" 

"  I  suppose  we  are  bound  to  have  chicken 
and  salad  twice  a  day,  now  that  we  are  in 
France,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton,  "but  we  might 
do  worse." 

"Oh,  the  poulet  and  the  salade  for  me; 
that  is  all  there  is  of  most,"  exclaimed  the 
count,  who  delighted  in  these  dishes. 

And  here  the  Frenchman  agreed  with 
him  for  once,  and  they  went  off  together  to 
inspect  the  menu  for  dejeuner.  They  were 
soon  off  to  the  beach  with  Mr.  Wilton  for 
their  bath,  and  Miss  Wilton  and  the  Eng- 
lishman took  the  lead  in  the  party  that  was 
to  inspect  the  sights  of  Fecamp. 

A  quaint  legend  is  told  of  the  manner  in 
v/hich  the  place  was  founded,  which  was 
as  early  as  the  year  658.  The  seas  are  re- 
ported to  have  cast  up  the  remains  of  a  fig- 

84 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

tree,  in  the  trunk  of  which  had  been  con- 
cealed the  blood  of  Christ,  bequeathed  to  a 
certain  man  named  Isaac,  by  his  uncle, 
Joseph  of  Arimathea.  On  the  spot  was 
erected  a  monastery  for  women.  Richard 
Sans  Peur,  who  was  the  grandfather  of  Will- 
iam the  Conqueror,  rebuilt  the  present  im- 
portant abbey,  which  he  used  as  a  place  of 
residence  during  the  latter  part  of  his  life. 

As  it  was  opposite  the  inn,  we  visited  it 
first,  and  found  it  full  of  interest.  The  ex- 
terior is  a  fine  example  of  Gothic  architecture 
as  it  is  found  in  Normandy,  unaffected  by  the 
influence  of  later  periods.  It  rises,  like  a 
massive  monument  to  God,  out  of  the  valley 
in  which  the  town  is  situated,  flanked  by  the 
high,  rather  bleak  hills,  rolling  up  on  either 
side,  like  the  waves  of  the  sea.  The  western 
fagade  is  the  only  variation  in  the  severe 
style  of  its  architecture,  which  is  strong  and 
symmetrical,  though  somewhat  cold  to  the 
eye. 

The  abbey,  which,  during  his  life,  was 
both  the  palace  and  minster  of  Richard  Sans 
Peur,  was  likewise  his  sepulchre.  There  he 
was  carried  at  his  own  request,  after  his 
death  at  Bayeux,  his  remains  being  deposited 
first   in    a   curious   sarcophagus    outside    the 

85 


Among  French  Inns 

churchy  but  later  interred  within  its  walls. 
His  example  made  the  abbey  a  nucleus  for 
those  of  the  ducal  house  of  Normandy  who 
turned  toward  the  religious  life.  Nicholas, 
the  son  of  Richard  III.,  and  William,  sur- 
named  Longue  Epee,  both  lived  here,  the 
latter  adding  a  palace  and  a  chapel.  The 
present  fagade  dates  only  from  the  end  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  the  original  church, 
which  was  called  St.  Trinite,  finished  in  1107, 
having  been  mostly  destroyed  by  fire.  In- 
deed, the  churches  of  Normandy,  especially 
those  of  Rouen,  seem  to  have  been  fre- 
quently a  prey  to  flames,  while  many  of  the 
chateaux  shared  the  same  fate.  The  energy 
and  piety  of  the  Normans  have,  however, 
succeeded  in  erecting  a  greater  and  more 
elaborate  monument  in  almost  every  in- 
stance. 

"  The  interior  of  this  abbey  has  almost 
the  appearance  of  a  cathedral,"  said  the 
Englishman  to  Miss  Wilton,  as  they  wan- 
dered through  the  nave  inspecting  the  walls, 
which  were  in  many  places  spoiled  by  white- 
wash or  inferior  restorations. 

"  Yes,"  said  she.  "  How  cool  and  solemn 
the  place  seems  after  the  life  outside,  and 
what  a  contrast." 

86 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

A  mass  was  being  repeated  in  one  of  the 
small  chapels  near  the  choir,  and  the  two 
paused  for  a  moment,  impressed  by  the 
reverence  of  the  scene.  The  mass  was  for 
the  repose  of  the  soul  of  some  one  departed 
this  life,  and  was  evidently  upon  the  first 
anniversary  of  death ;  a  custom  that  is  preva- 
lent in  France,  and  not  without  a  certain 
beautiful  religious  sentiment.  A  single 
candle  burned  before  an  image  of  the  Virgin 
near  the  altar,  and  a  single  figure,  clothed 
in  weeds  of  woe,  knelt  devoutly  in  the 
chapel.  It  was  that  of  an  aged  woman, 
bowed  with  grief,  who  had  doubtless  saved 
her  humble  earnings  to  pay  for  this  treasured 
office  to  some  dear  one  who  had  passed  out- 
ward to  another  life. 

The  priest,  a  young  abbe,  was  intoning  the 
"  Kyrie  Eleison,"  in  the  soft  light  of  the 
chapel.  The  whole  scene  was  so  simple  and 
touching  in  its  devotion  that  instinctively 
Miss  Wilton  sank  to  her  knees,  and  the  Eng- 
lishman with  her. 

In  a  moment  it  seemed  as  if  the  full  mean- 
ing of  the  Roman  Catholic  faith,  in  its  influ- 
ence upon  the  emotional  side  of  human 
feeling,  was  borne  upon  the  fair  American 
girl  and  the  companion  at  her  side,  not  with 

^1 


Among  French  Inns 

incense  and  peals  of  music  and  robes,  not 
in  the  grandeur  of  a  festival,  nor  attended 
by  dignitaries  of  the  Church,  but  in  its  inti- 
mate relation  with  the  soul,  the  sentiment  of 
human  hearts,  rather  than  its  appeal  to  the 
senses. 

Such  is  perhaps  the  truest  individual  com- 
munion with  the  Deity,  the  simplest  office 
of  religion  given  in  this  almost  monastic 
solitude,  an  appeal  unattended  by  pageantry 
or  crowds,  and  given  in  sincerity  to  God. 

It  was  impossible  for  the  two  who  had 
thus  joined  the  mass  to  believe  for  the  mo- 
ment that  they  were  not  one  with  it  and  of 
it.  For  the  time,  all  thought  of  religious 
differences  of  creeds,  all  suggestion  of  man's 
conflict  in  the  past  with  dogma  or  theology 
vanished.  It  was  a  communion  of  spirit, 
born  of  natural  impulse  and  feeling  —  surely 
the  truest  image  of  the  Eternal  mind  on 
earth. 

As  they  rose,  at  the  conclusion  of  the  mass, 
Miss  Wilton  whispered  a  word  of  thanks  to 
her  companion  for  thus  joining  in  her  own 
sentiment  and  action. 

"  I  should  like  to  speak  to  this  woman," 
said  she. 

"  I  think  she  would  appreciate  it  if  you 
88 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

did,"  said  the  Englishman,  who  had  for- 
gotten for  the  moment  that  he  was  de- 
scended from  a  long  line  of  the  sternest 
supporters  of  the  Church  of  England. 

Miss  Wilton  approached  the  still  kneeling 
figure,  and  held  out  her  hand  in  sympathetic 
acknowledgment   of   their   unusual   meeting. 

"  Ah,  mademoiselle,  may  the  hon  Dieu 
bless  you!"  said  the  old  woman,  weeping. 
"  You  bring  back  to  me  my  own  loved  one 
that  is  gone.  She  was  my  only  daughter, 
all  that  was  left  to  me;  as  beautiful  as  the 
heavens,  like  yourself,  mademoiselle.  The 
waves  had  taken  all  the  others  from  me,  and 
then  God  called  her  also." 

As  the  aged  figure  vanished  through  the 
doorway  of  the  church  it  seemed  as  if  some- 
thing had  passed  between  these  two  young 
people  which  could  not  be  described  in 
words,  and  which  changed  the  atmosphere 
about  them.  Their  thoughts  were  unable  to 
shake  off  the  impression  which  this  incident 
had  made  upon  them,  and  the  air  of  the 
abbey  seemed,  as  it  were,  sanctified  by  some- 
thing deeper  and  more  human  than  the  mere 
stones  and  effigies  about  thern. 

"  I  am  glad  that  we  stayed  for  the  mass," 


89 


Among  French  Inns 

said  Miss  Wilton,  simply,  to  the  Englishman, 
as  they  passed  from  the  building. 

''  And  I,  too,"  said  he,  with  something  in 
his  voice  which  had  not  been  there  before. 

As  they  came  out  of  the  transept  door 
they  paused  to  examine  the  spot  where  Duke 
Richard  was  originally  buried.  The  origin 
of  the  stone  sarcophagus,  which  was  placed 
in  the  very  pathway  leading  to  the  entrance, 
has  been  a  subject  of  much  interest  and 
research  to  historians  of  the  abbey,  and 
those  who  have  been  interested  in  its  past. 
It  stood  so  close  to  the  walls  of  the  edifice 
that  the  water,  dripping  from  the  gargoyle 
extending  from  the  eaves  above,  moistened  its 
surface  in  wet  weather  and  baptized  it  with 
the  rains  of  heaven. 

Its  original  use,  according  to  Palgrave, 
was  not  that  of  a  tomb,  but  as  a  receptacle 
for  wheat  and  grain,  which  was  distributed, 
together  with  other  alms,  to  the  poor  of 
Fecamp  on  the  eve  of  every  Sabbath.  Grain 
was  at  that  period  a  common  luxury  in  Nor- 
mandy, and  appreciated  by  those  in  need  of 
charity.  It  was,  therefore,  a  beautiful  idea 
which  caused  this  rude  stone  to  be  used  as 
the  place  of  burial  for  the  earthly  remains 
of   the   ducal   patron   of   the   monastery.      It 

90 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

has  been  a  spot  of  almost  sacred  interest  ever 
since. 

As  they  wandered  on  through  the  streets 
and  byways  of  the  town,  the  Englishman's 
thoughts  returned  to  the  incident  in'  •  the 
abbey.  In  some  way  it  had  produced  a 
strange  effect  upon  his  mind,  and  his  opinion 
of  the  beautiful  American  girl  at  his  side 
was  undergoing  a  change.  Was  it  possible 
that  this  young  woman,  surrounded  by  the 
irresponsible  frivolities  and  luxuries  which 
seemed  so  a  part  of  her  existence,  had  some- 
thing deeper  and  more  sincere  in  her  nature 
than   appeared   upon   the  surface? 

Hitherto  he  had  regarded  her  only  as  a 
bird  of  feathery  plumage,  borne  upon  the 
current  of  every  passing  air  that  blows  about 
persons  of  great  and  sudden  wealth,  un- 
accompanied by  those  traditions  of  inherit- 
ance that  are  so  much  a  part  of  English  life. 
What  he  had  seen  of  her  before  had  given 
him  only  the  impression  of  a  charming,  but 
vain  and  careless  person,  ignorant  of  any 
of  the  duties  or  considerations  which  are 
shared  and  practised  by  Englishwomen  of 
the  better  sort.  She  had  appeared  to  him, 
more  perhaps  than  to  any  of  the  young  men 
who  had  met  her,  as  a  winged  butterfly,  enter- 

91 


Among  French  Inns 

taining  and  iridescent  in  the  sunlight,  but 
not  to  be  thought  of  seriously,  nor  to  be  con- 
sidered in  any  sombre  light,  where  the  rays  of 
the  sun  were  not  visible,  nor  in  shadows 
through  which  they  could  not  pierce. 

Now  all  was  altered,  and  the  Englishman 
was  obliged  to  rearrange  his  thoughts.  It 
took  time  and  an  effort  to  do  so,  and  it  was 
not  surprising  that  he  was  silent  most  of  the 
way;  for  how  could  he  be  expected  to  alter 
his  opinion  of  a  young  lady's  character,  and 
talk  to  her  at  the  same  time? 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  did  not  ask  the  name 
and  address  of  the  old  woman  when  we  were 
in  the  church."  It  was  Miss  Wilton's  voice 
that  roused  him  from  his  thoughts  at  last. 

"  Do  you  think  we  could  find  her  if  we 
returned?"  he  asked;  "it  is  not  too  late 
to  turn  back." 

"  I  am  afraid  she  has  gone  too  far  by 
this  time,"  returned  Miss  Wilton,  "  but  I 
should  like  to  have  asked  her  some  more 
about  her  daughter,  arid  to  have  done  some- 
thing for  her,  if  possible,  for  she  seemed  very 
poor." 

"  Perhaps  we  shall  see  her  again  before 
we  leave,"  suggested  the  Englishman,  hope- 
fully.     "  Fecamp    is    not    very    large,    you 

92 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

know,  and  one  is  likely  to  meet  the  same 
people  again.  There  is  only  one  person, 
however,  whom  I  hope  we  shall  not  meet 
again  while  we  are  here,  and  that  is  the 
ridiculous-looking  ' ]oli  garqong*  whom  the 
count  admired  at  Etretat.  It  was  enough 
to  make  one  ill  to  look  at  him." 

But  alas!  As  if  the  hand  of  Fate  had 
attended  the  Englishman's  remark,  who 
should  appear  on  the  horizon  at  that  instant 
but  the  ]Qli  garqon  himself,  strutting  down 
the  street  and  pluming  himself,  for  all  the 
world,  like  a  turkey-cock  in  a  barnyard! 

"  *  Oh,  wad  some  power  the  giftie  gie  us,' " 
quoted  Miss  Wilton. 

"  ^  To  see  oursels  as  ithers  see  us,' "  added 
the  Englishman,  finishing  out  the  line  of  the 
poet  with  an  expression  of  absolute  contempt 
on  his  face,  —  which  the  ]oli  garqon  did  not 
see  as  he  passed,  delighted  with  his  own 
appearance  and  oblivious  of  evil. 

"  Let  us  go  and  see  the  Maison  de  St. 
Waninge,  who  founded  the  original  monas- 
tery," said  Miss  Wilton;  and  the  two  made 
their  way  toward  La  Retenue,  at  the  end  of 
which  this  interesting  house  is  situated.  The 
most  attractive  part  of  it  is  the  doorway, 
which  is  of  the  thirteenth  century,  and  is  a 

93 


Among  French  Inns 

fitting  sequel  to  the  abbey  itself,  associated 
as  it  is  with  the  early  history  of  the  town. 

High  above  the  shore,  and  situated  upon 
the  bluff  overlooking  the  sea,  is  a  little  chapel 
with  a  tall  lighthouse  near  it.  In  the  view 
of  Fecamp  it  stands  against  the  sky  in  almost 
desolate  isolation,  like  a  beacon  on  the  hill. 
The  chapel  is  that  of  Notre  Dame  de  Salbt, 
which  is  a  place  of  pilgrimage.  Near  it,  on 
the  headland  which  is  sometimes  called  Cap- 
Fagnet,  is  a  fort  known  as  Notre  Dame  de 
Bourg-Baudouin.  Up  the  steep  pathway 
leading  to  the  chapel,  the  poor  pilgrims  of 
the  place  may  be  found  climbing  to  the  altar 
above;  for  the  devotion  of  a  pilgrimage  is 
one  of  the  religious  characteristics  of  France, 
and  in  all  parts  it  is  the  joy  of  good  Catholics 
to  repair  on  certain  days  to  some  shrine  where 
they  may  offer  their  prayers  and  their  obla- 
tions to  the  Almighty. 

Not  far  from  the  centre  of  the  town  is  the 
Fontaine  du  Precieux-Sang,  where  the  tra- 
ditional fig-tree  was  washed  up  by  the  sea, 
and  in  which  the  blood  of  our  Lord  was  said 
to  have  been  enclosed.  The  water  of  this 
fountain  is  believed  to  this  day  to  possess 
certain  wondrous  properties  and  healing 
powers,   and  many  children  have  been   im- 

94 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

mersed  in  it,  —  sometimes  to  their  ultimate 
ill,  be  it  said.  For  such  superstitions,  which 
are  common  in  Normandy,  are  more  pic- 
turesque as  legends  of  the  fancy  than  valua- 
ble as  agencies  of  health  and  comfort  to  youth 
or  early  childhood. 

By  the  time  Miss  Wilton  and  the  English- 
man had  returned  to  the  inn,  the  rest  of  the 
party  had  .gathered  for  dejeuner,  and  they 
found  plenty  to  discuss  and  gossip  over.  The 
count  had  found  some  French  friends  while 
bathing,  and  was  full  of  interest  and  conver- 
sation, as  usual.  Indeed,  it  did  not  take 
much  to  set  the  count's  tongue  a-wagging,  or 
the  count's  throat  a-thirsting,  or  the  count's 
brain  a-whirling,  in  true  Latin  style,  on  the 
sea  of  social  intercourse. 

"  Well,  count,  we  had  a  fine  bath,  didn't 
we?"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  who  was  in  excel- 
lent humour. 

"  Only  the  bath-suit,  he  was  so  small," 
added  his  Excellency,  thinking  of  the  time 
he  had  had  squeezing  into  the  elastic  sub- 
stance which  he  had  purchased  on  the  beach. 
"  I  put  him  on,  and  it  take  two  men  to  pull 
him  off  over  the  head;  and  the  legs  was  all 
filled  with  salt.  Ah,  but  ces  dames,  they 
were  lovely  in  the  bath-suits;   one  all  in  pink 

95 


Among  French  Inns 

and  one  all  in  green.  Dieu!  how  I  would 
like  a  pink  suit." 

"  He'd  look  like  a  lobster  with  it  on,"  said 
Mr.  Wilton  under  his  breath.  ''  There's  one 
thing  the  count  can  do,  however,"  he  added 
aloud,  "  and  that  is  to  float.  You  should 
have  seen  him,  ladies;  he  was  half  out  of 
water." 

"  With  the  swimming  I  can  do,"  said  the 
count;  "  but  the  floating,  that  I  can  manage. 
Oh,  yes,"  and  he  made  an  indescribable 
gesture  to  express  his  pride  in  the  accom- 
plishment. "  I  lie  on  the  back,  and  the  water 
takes  the  body  to  the  air." 

"That's  it,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  "you  press 
the  button,  and  the  waves  do  the  rest."  (Mr. 
Wilton's  wit  was  apt  to  be  tinged  with  slang 
or  local  expressions,  which  he  learned  on 
the  Exchange.)  "  But  how  about  the  surf? 
I  thought  you  were  going  to  kill  that  lady 
when  you  rolled  over  on  top  of  her." 

"  Do  not  tease  the  count,"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
ton to  her  husband.  "  He  has  had  a  nice 
bath,  and  I  am  sure  looks  a  great  deal  better 
for  it.  I  was  really  worried  about  him  yes- 
terday." 

"  So  was  I,"  said  the  Frenchman.     "  With 


96 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

the  blood  in  his  head,  I  was  afraid  of  an 
attack  or  a  fit." 

"  Oh,  Dieu,  Dieu! ''  exclaimed  the  count  in 
alarm.  "  I  hope  not.  Mia  madre  had  one 
when  she  tvas  sixty,  and  was  always  a  little 
light  in  the  head  after  it.  I  hope  not  a 
fitl" 

"  They  say  one  never  knows  when  one  has 
a  fit,"  said  the  Frenchman,  by  way  of  con- 
soling the  count,  "  so  that  one  has  to  be  told 
after  it  is  over." 

"Come,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton,  "let's  talk 
of  something  pleasanter.  Dejeuner  is  ready, 
and  —  think  of  it,  count  —  we  are  to  have 
some  of  the  famous  old  Burgundy  with  our 
chicken  1 " 

The  count's  eyes  sparkled,  and  the  skies 
were  serene  once  more. 

Later  in  the  afternoon  it  was  decided  to 
take  a  run  down  to  Yvetot  in  the  automobiles, 
and  perhaps  on  to  Caudebec,  if  there  were 
time.  About  two  o'clock  every  one  was 
ready  except  Mr.  Wilton,  who  positively 
refused  to  go,  so  he  was  left  behind  with 
the  luggage,  to  smoke  his  cigar  with  the 
host  of  the  inn,  to  whom  he  seemed  to  have 
taken  a  great  fancy.  The  host  told  Mr. 
Wilton  wonderful  stories  of  Fecamp  and  the 

97 


Among  French  Inns 

past  glories  of  the  inn,  and  in  return  Mr. 
Wilton  told  mine  host  wonderful  stories  of 
American  ways,  and  how  to  make  money, 
and  how  he  had  better  pack  up  his  Burgundy 
and  take  it  over  to  New  York  and  start  a 
hotel  there. 

As  long  as  he  was  pleased  and  well,  Mrs. 
Wilton  did  not  care  so  much  as  a  pin  what 
he  was  up  to.  She  had  too  much  to  do  when 
she  was  abroad  to  bother  about  Mr.  Wilton 
or  what  amused  him,  or  did  not.  In  early 
life  she  had  worked  and  endured  and  slaved 
with  him  for  their  mutual  interest  and  bene- 
fit, but  now  life  was  passing,  and  in  her 
actual  field  of  operations  her  husband  could 
take  only  a  minor  part.  So  it  happened 
that  when  he  was  dragged  to  Europe  once 
every  year  or  two,  to  show  the  great  world 
there  that  Mrs.  Blodget  Wilton  had  a  hus- 
band, and  could  produce  him  if  she  had 
a  mind  to,  he  was  left,  a  good  deal  of  the 
time,  to  his  own  devices,  and  only  forced 
to  appear  on  occasions  which  actually  de- 
manded his  presence,  —  such  as  one  out  of 
every  three  of  the  princely  banquets  (which 
he  paid  for,  be  it  said),  during  the  Paris 
season,  and  every  now  and  then  a  visit  at 
some    chateau    in    the    country.      These    he 

98 


••'".'    ;    ' 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grmid  Cerf 

hated  more  than  anything,  because  he  could 
not  speak  French,  nor  understand  French 
wit,  nor  get  away  from  the  people  who  were 
staying  there.  He  was  usually  bullied  into 
going  by  his  wife,  ^fter  a  good  deal  of  argu- 
ing and  prodding,  and  he  got  away  if  he 
could  on  almost  any  excuse  before  the  end  of 
the  visit  was  reached. 

So  much  for  Mr.  Blodget  Wilton.  The 
rest  of  the  party  were  ready  to  enjoy  the 
afternoon.  The  ladies  had  on  their  most 
approved  automobile  costumes,  covered  with 
dust-coloured  gossamers,  and  half  a  hundred 
veils  over  their  heads  and  faces.  The  count 
and  the  Frenchman  were  both  in  the  best 
of  humour,  and  the  Englishman  as  fresh  and 
serene  as  usual. 

Yvetot  is  situated  about  midway  between 
Fecamp  and  Rouen,  in  a  direct  line  running 
in  a  southeasterly  direction,  and  it  may  be 
reached  by  passing  through  Valmont,  Our- 
ville,  and  Fauville.  The  distance  is  not  too 
great  to  be  covered  comfortably  in  an  auto- 
mobile, over  the  roads  for  which  France  is 
so  noted.  Even  the  constant  hills  (which  are 
at  times  steep,  and  the  roads  winding)  are 
scarcely  an  impediment  to  one  of  the  good 
French  machines;    for  the  French  certainly 

99 


Among  French  Inns 

have  led  the  world  in  this  respect,  as  they 
have  in  the  network  of  state  roads  which 
cover  the  country  and  are  a  model  for  all 
governments  and  municipalities  to  follow. 
They  combine  the  practical  and  the  pictur- 
esque, lined  by  broad  borders  of  green  well- 
trimmed  grass,  with  cuttings  for  the  water  to 
drain  through,  and  edged  with  neat  hedges, 
not  unlike  some  parts  of  England. 

Not  far  from  Fecamp,  and  near  Ourville, 
is  Valmont,  in  the  midst  of  lovely  scenery 
preserved  in  freshness  and  verdure  by  the 
warmth  of  the  Norman  sunshine,  the  con- 
stant rains,  and  the  moisture  of  the  sea  which 
is  wafted  southward  through  the  country. 
Valmont  is  interesting  historically  and  archi- 
tecturally. It  possesses  a  chateau,  a  mon- 
astery, and  a  church.  The  chateau  is  asso- 
ciated with  the  name  of  Frangois  I.  (whose 
influence  in  architecture  has  crept  even  into 
Normandy),  and  of  the  famous  Duguesclin. 
Charles  V.  gave  the  chateau  to  his  gallant 
Connetable,  and  Frangois  I.  visited  it  at  the 
time  of  the  marriage  of  Adrienne  d'Estoute- 
ville  to  the  Comte  de  St.  Paul. 

The  land  of  Valmont  itself  belonged  in 
early  days  to  the  house  of  Estouteville,  and 
it  was   the  last  of   this   celebrated   Norman 

lOO 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

family  who  allied  it  to  the  royal  house  of 
France  by  the  marriage  just  referred  to,  the 
Comte  de  St.  Paul  being  Charles  de  Bour- 
bon. Through  his  daughter,  this  mater- 
nal domain  was  transferred  to  the  house  of 
Orleans-Longueville,  so  that  its  associations 
have  been  distinctly  of  a  royal  character. 

The  foundations  of  the  chateau  are  of  the 
twelfth  century,  while  the  upper  portions, 
which  arise  out  of  the  depths  of  green  be- 
low them,  are  of  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth 
centuries,  and  show  the  more  ornate  and 
luxurious  influence  of  the  Renaissance.  It 
is  interesting  to  note,  in  such  places  as  these, 
how  the  hand  of  Frangois  I.,  who  brought 
the  florid  yet  beautiful  style  of  the  Renais- 
sance from  Italy,  and  bequeathed  it  as  an 
imperishable  gift  to  France,  shows  itself 
even  here,  far  from  his  favoured  haunts  of 
Touraine.  The  stern  walls  of  the  early 
Norman  days  were  at  once  adorned  for  his 
coming  with  all  the  ornaments  and  achieve- 
ments of  his  time,  details  which  not  even  the 
ruthless  and  inconsiderate  restorations  of 
later  owners  have  been  able  to  utterly  destroy 
or  hide. 

Enter,  you  who  stand  before  this  noble 
habitation    of    other    days,    and    observe    in 

lOI 


Among  French  Inns 

truth  the  allegory  which  these  cold  and  life- 
less stones  may  teach,  and  apply  it  to  your 
own  less  picturesque  environment.  Are  not 
romances  of  life  more  deeply  graven  in 
these  walls  that  rise  to-day  on  all  sides  in 
France,  out  of  the  mists  of  the  past,  than  are 
enacted  in  our  dramas,  or  printed  upon  the 
pages  of  our  volumes?  Is  there  not  poetry 
concealed  in  every  corner  and  beneath  every 
shadow,  which  breathes  of  chivalry  and  love, 
of  passion,  misery,  or  death?  Life  comes 
again  and  fills  it  with  joy  and  youth.  Am- 
bitions, hopes,  intrigues  fill  its  galleries,  and 
whisper  of  the  ways  of  courts  now  long 
since  overthrown  and  gone.  The  whole 
array  of  personages,  as  human  as  ourselves 
though  born  in  other  times,  returns,  as  we 
wander  through  these  castles  of  France,  fill- 
ing our  minds  with  history  —  much  of  which 
is  never  to  be  written  by  man  —  and  kindling 
again  the  old  romance  and  action  of  baronial 
times. 

Ah!  There  is  something  which  touches, 
deep  in  the  heart,  a  spark  of  animated 
fire  that  smoulders  in  the  souls  of  many  who 
have  not  trod  these  paths  of  European  haunts, 
yet  desire  the  very  inspiration  which  they 
give,  and  who  know  it  when  it  comes.    With 

I02 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

those  who  feel  it  we  would  sympathize,  and 
urge  them  to  the  effort  of  a  pilgrimage;  for 
surely  nothing  broadens  the  imagination  more 
generously;  nothing  fills  so  truthfully  the 
void;  nothing  satisfies  more  swiftly  the 
desire. 

The  Hotel  du  Commerce  at  Valmont 
opens  its  doors  to  the  passing  visitor,  and 
the  company  of  which  we  form  a  part  stops, 
nothing  loath,  to  refresh  its  members  and 
pause,  filled  with  the  impressions  which  the 
chateau  and  the  other  monuments  of  the 
place  have  given  them.  On  the  opposite  side 
of  the  river  are  the  remains  of  the  monastery, 
which  date  from  the  twelfth  century  also. 
The  Chapelle  de  la  Vierge,  which  savours 
of  the  Renaissance,  like  the  chateau  itself, 
contains  the  tombs  of  the  departed  Sires 
d'Estouteville,  memorials  of  a  famous  race, 
now  passed  from  view  for  ever. 

A  charming  legend  is  told  in  reference 
to  the  foundation  of  the  abbey,  known  as  the 
Miracle  of  the  Roses.  Mademoiselle  d'Es- 
touteville,  the  daughter  of  the  founder,  was 
wont  to  conceal  provisions  for  the  poor  work- 
men who  built  it,  and  who  were  ground 
down  to  poverty  by  the  avarice  of  her  father. 
One  day  he  discovered  her. 

103 


Among  French  Inns    . 

"What  is  that  which  you  have  hidden  in 
your  dress?"  said  he. 

"  Father,"  said  the  maiden,  in  fear  of  the 
paternal  anger,  "  it  is  only  some  roses."  And 
behold,  as  she  loosed  her  dress  there  fell  from 
it,  not  the  provisions  which  she  had  placed 
there,  but  a  mass  of  scented  flowers,  fragrant 
with  the  perfume  of  summer. 

Heaven  had  prevented  one  of  its  saints 
from  being  punished  for  telling  a  falsehood. 

The  party  left  Valmont  and  the  Hotel  du 
Commerce  with  regret,  and  sped  on  to  Our- 
ville,  which  is  only  a  short  distance,  —  soon 
covered  by  an  automobile. 

"  These  old  castles  of  Normandy,  and  in 
fact  in  France  generally,  are  a  curious  con- 
trast to  ours  in  England,"  said  the  English- 
man to  Miss  Wilton. 

"There  is  an  air  of  artistic  neglect  here 
which  is  hardly  ever  seen  with  you,"  said  the 
latter.  "  Your  beautiful  lawns  and  parks  are 
so  much  more  neatly  trimmed  and  cared  for, 
that  it  is  almost  impossible  to  compare  the 
two." 

"  France  has  a  charm,  different,  and  yet 
all  its  own,"  said  the  Englishman. 

"And  what  a  poetic  charm!"  interrupted 
the  Frenchman.     "  Do  you  know,  as  we  go 

104 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

the  lines  of  the  French  poet  run  through  my 
head: 

**  *  Voir,  c'est  avoir  ; 
Allons  courir : 
'  Vie  errante 

Est  chose  enivrante  ! 

Voir,  c'est  avoir  ; 

Allons  courir, 

Car  tout  voir 

C'est  tout  conquerir  !  *  " 

"Oh,  that  is  delightful,"  said  the  count. 
"  I  must  learn  the  words.  They  are  full 
of  the  life  of  movement  and  running!" 

Miss  Wilton  laughed.  "You  do  have 
such  an  amusing  way  of  putting  things,  Count 
di  Pomponi,"  said  she.  "  I  wonder  why  we 
never  think  of  saying  the  things  that  you 
do." 

The  Englishman  thought,  from  his  point 
of  view,  that  Mrs.  Blodget  Wilton,  to  say 
nothing  of  her  husband,  had  at  times  some 
very  amusing  ways  of  putting  things,  but  he 
hardly  liked  to  say  so  to  their  daughter. 

"  The  Italian,  he  likes  to  say  what  he  think 
always,"  said  the  count,  graciously  waving 
his  glove  until  it  touched  his  left  waistcoat 
pocket.  "  He  is  never  afraid  to  say  what 
he  think.  The  sentiment,  he  expand,  and 
the  heart  is  always  warm.     Oh!    signorina, 

105 


Among  French  Inns 

I  would  loave  to  show  you  the  Italia,  and  the 
poesia  Italiana/' 

The  count  looked  volumes  of  fat  rapture 
as  he  spoke,  and  every  one  laughed.  Poor 
man!  No  one  would  take  him  seriously,  and 
he  could  never  understand  the  reason  why. 

'*  Ah,  but  the  loave  in  the  boosom  is  true, 
when  we  wish  to  sacrifice  the  life,"  he 
added,   with   tragic   fervour. 

*'  Oh,  dear  count,  I  hope  you  are  not  going 
to  kill  yourself,''  said  Miss  Wilton.  "  That 
would  be  too  dreadful.  Think  of  it!  If 
you  did,  we  should  have  no  one  to  show 
Italy  to  us." 

"  I  can  do,"  sighed  the  count,  in  an  agony 
of  romantic  fervour,  allowing  his  arms  to 
hang  listlessly  in  the  air,  as  if  they  were  en- 
tirely independent  of  his  body. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  his  fair  tormentor, 
indulgently.  "  You  must  not  feel  so  badly. 
Look  at  this  lovely  view ;  we  are  losing  it 
all." 

"  I  can  see,"  answered  the  count,  wistfully. 
"  He  go  by  so  fast  the  trees  is  all  in  the  air, 
and  the  grass  up  on  top  with  the  eyes." 

"  You  might  shut  them,"  suggested  the 
Englishman,  "  and  then  you  would  not  get 
so  much  dust  in  them." 

1 06 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

Finally  the  count  did  close  his  lustrous 
orbs,  and  sank  into  a  semi-slumber,  while  his 
generous  form  bounced  about  on  the  seat 
like  so  much  jelly  when  taken  out  of  its 
mould. 

Passing  through  Ourville  and  Fauville, 
picturesque  villages  nestling  in  lovely  scenery, 
the  party  pursued  its  way  to  Yvetot,  the 
ancient  capital  of  the  Pays  du  Caletes.  The 
chief  interest  that  centres  about  Yvetot  is 
political  and  -  historical.  As  a  sixteenth- 
century  poet  has  expressed  it: 

"  Au  noble  pays  du  Caux 
Y  a  quatre  abbaies  royaux, 
Six  prieurez  conventuaux, 
Et  six  barons  de  grand  arroi, 
Quatre  comtes,  trois  dues,  un  roi." 

In  truth  the  "  kingdom  of  Yvetot "  was 
one  of  those  tiny  independent  states,  more 
in  name  than  in  space,  which  are  to  be  found 
more  frequently  in  the  history  of  other 
centuries  than  to-day.  Although  historians 
have  failed  to  discover  satisfactorily  the  real 
origin  of  this  petty  kingdom,  it  arose  to 
suzerain  power  sometime  between  the  reigns 
of  William  the  Conqueror  and  John  Lack- 
land.   The  seigneurs  of  Yvetot  appear  upon 

107 


Among  French  Inns 

the  stage  of  history  in  the  train  of  the  Nor- 
man Conquest,  and  we  hear  of  a  transaction 
in  1203  between  Richard  d'Yvetot  and  the 
Abbey  of  St.  Wandrille,  through  which 
the  former  was  granted  an  independent 
sovereignty. 

Various  evidences  appear  through  suc- 
cessive centuries,  showing  that  the  Sires 
d'Yvetot  were  wont  to  style  themselves  as 
other  rulers,  that  their  wives  assumed  the 
titles  of  queens  and  princesses,  and  that  they 
were  apparently  recognized  as  such  by  the 
Kings  of  France.  The  existence,  however, 
of  this  so-called  "  kingdom,''  which  was  a 
unique  exception  to  the  common  right  in 
France,  has  been  more  or  less  the  object  of 
mockery  or  satire.  The  poetry  which  is 
associated  with  Yvetot  is  that  of  Berenger, 
which  savours  of  the  humourous  yet  philo- 
sophic spirit  of  the  materialist  and  the  hoary 
son  of  toil.  It  breathes  the  atmosphere  of 
the  Norman  peasant,  the  scent  of  the  apple, 
the  intoxication  of  cider,  and  the  song  of  the 
public  house  at  the  end  of  the  village  street. 
Here  is  an  example,  which  has  been  quoted 
by  other  writers,  of  this  interesting  phase  of 
sovereignty : 


108 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

"  II  etait  un  roi  d'Yvetot 
Peu  connu  dans  I'histoire. 
Oh  !  Oh  !  Oh  !  Oh  !  Ah  !  Ah  !  Ah  !  Ah  ! 
Quel  bon  petit  roi  c'etait  la  1 " 

But  though  seemingly  insignificant  as  mon- 
archs,  the  Kings  of  Yvetot  held  their  pre- 
rogatives for  several  centuries.  They  assem- 
bled their  miniature  courts,  made  terms  with 
the  powers  with  whom  they  came  in  contact, 
and  defended  their  integrity  in  the  wars 
which  threatened  their  possessions  and  their 
independence.  They  have  left  a  curious, 
historical,  and  almost  mythical  interest  be- 
hind them,  which  has  attracted  the  anti- 
quaries of  France  and  elsewhere.  The  mists 
which  hover  over  the  country  of  Normandy 
seem  to  have  enveloped  in  their  folds  the 
early  days  of  the  rise  and  creation  of  Yvetot 
as  a  separate  kingdom.  Possibly  for  this 
very  reason  speculation  is  rife,  and  the  curi- 
osity of  historians  more  keenly  alive.  In 
any  case,  to  the  student  of  political  history, 
this  one  example  of  independent  sovereignty 
among  the  early  dependencies  and  provinces 
of  France  must  always  clothe  the  capital  of 
its  past  power  with  a  romantic  and  pictur- 
esque quality  which  is  worthy  of  investiga- 
tion and  study. 

109 


Among  French  Inns 

To-day  the  town  is  the  proud  possessor  of 
manufactures  and  an  immense  market  which 
at  times  is  the  great  centre  of  business,  gos- 
sip, intrigue,  and  the  life  in  general  of  the 
inhabitants  of  this  departed  kingdom.  Here 
they  arrive,  in  all  manner  of  equipages, 
clothed  in  all  manner  of  quaint  attire,  and 
here  barter  their  souls  for  a  pig,  a  cow,  or  a 
barrel  of  apples.  The  price  of  eggs,  the 
quality  of  butter,  or  the  laying  powers  of 
the  domesticated  hen,  —  these  are  the  latter- 
day  topics  of  the  kingdom  of  Yvetot,  founded 
upon  the  aftermath  of  the  Conqueror  of 
England,  and  created  by  the  ambitions  of  its 
puissant  sires.  Oh,  crown!  Where  is  thine 
end?  Oh,  greatness!  Where  was  thy  begin- 
ning? 

Rested  and  refreshed  by  a  draught  of 
delicious  cider  at  the  Hotel  des  Victoires, 
our  party  went  on  for  a  few  kilometres,  in 
order  to  visit  the  famous  oak,  known  through- 
out this  part  of  the  country  as  the  "  Chene 
d'Allouville."  This  remarkable  tree,  which 
is  one  of  the  most  curious  examples  of  its 
kind  in  France,  is  situated  in  the  church- 
yard of  the  village  church  of  Allouville, 
and  is  considered  to  be  at  least  nine  hundred 
years  old. 

no 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

It  is  so  large  in  circumference  that  it  has 
been  possible  to  build  two  rustic  chapels  in 
its  trunk,  one  above  the  other.  Around  this 
picturesque  shrine  the  patriarchal  branches 
of  the  tree  twine  themselves  in  a  religious 
embrace  which  lends  to  it  a  quaint  and  rural 
dignity.  Behind  it  the  tower  of  the  church 
rises  above  its  gnarled  and  tangled  form, 
watching  over  its  destiny  as  if  to  protect  it  by 
the  hand  of  God.  The  humble  villagers 
kneel  before  it  in  devout  respect,  offering  up 
a  prayer  to  the  Almighty  for  that  which 
they  hold  most  dear  in  life  —  the  repose 
of  a  soul,  the  protection  of  a  relative,  the 
preservation  of  some  family  possession,  or 
strength  to  bear  the  burden  of  their  years. 

It  is  another  picture  of  the  noticeable  in- 
fluence of  religious  feeling  in  the  every-day 
existence  of  the  Latin  countries,  which  is  to 
be  observed  so  frequently  in  France;  more 
even  in  the  rural  districts  than  in  larger 
towns  or  cities.  The  circumference  of  the 
tree  at  its  base  is  thirteen  metres,  and  as  it  is 
entirely  hollow,  the  lower  chapel  is  almost 
the  same  size.  It  dates  from  the  seventeenth 
century,  and  is  dedicated  to  Notre  Dame  de 
la  Paix.  Above  it  is  a  second  chamber, 
reached  by  an  exterior  staircase. 

Ill 


Among  French  Inns 

The  Frenchman,  as  soon  as  the  party  had 
alighted,  tore  off  his  cap  and  darted  into 
the  chapel,  where  he  was  discovered  in  a  few 
moments  saying  his  prayers. 

"What  a  wonderful  old  tree!"  said  Mrs. 
Wilton.  "  I  declare,  it  is  like  one  of  our 
large  trees  in  California.  What  a  pity  it  is 
one  could  not  buy  it  and  carry  it  back  to 
America!  It  would  be  such  a  surprise  to 
have  it  at  our  place  on  Long  Island." 

"  Ah,  madame,"  exclaimed  the  count, 
"  if  you  come  to  Roma  you  would  want  to 
buy  the  Arch  of  Titus;  but  they  would  not 
sell  it;"  and  Mrs.  Wilton  looked  almost 
angry. 

"  Come,  count,"  said  she,  "  you  must  get 
out  of  the  automobile  and  climb  up  here  in 
the  tree." 

"  But  are  the  stairs  safe?  And  will  they 
hold  the  weight  of  the  body? "  inquired 
the  intrepid  Romeo,  sagaciously.  It  was  not 
his  desire  to  be  led  into  any  pitfalls  or  dan- 
gers if  they  could  be  avoided. 

"  Oh,  mamma,  pray  do  not  urge  Count 
Romeo  to  go  up  those  stairs.  Think  how 
awkward  it  would  be  if  he  slipped  and  broke 
his  leg." 

**  Oh,  yes,  if  the  leg  was  broke  the  whole 

112 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

body  would  be  agonizing  me  with  the  pain," 
answered  his  Excellency,  in  alarm. 

But  Mrs.  Wilton  was  bent  upon  the  count's 
entering  the  tree,  and  so  up  the  poor  count 
was  obliged  to  go,  his  hostess  pulling  him 
before,  and  the  Englishman  assisting  his 
ascent  from  behind.  By  their  united  efforts 
he  was  pushed  up  the  stairs  and  squeezed 
through  the  narrow  door  into  the  chamber 
of  the  famous  oak.  There  he  could  be  heard 
shouting  for  joy,  and  flattering  Mrs.  Wilton 
in  his  most  chivalrous  and  romantic  style. 

"  But  if  the  floor  would  fall  through,  the 
bones  would  be  all  broken  to  pieces,"  said  he, 
finally,  and  he  was  about  to  make  his  exit. 

"  Hush,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton,  in  a  command- 
ing tone.  "  You  must  not  make  so  much 
noise.     Remember  this  tree  is  a  chapel,  and 

I  do  believe  Monsieur  de  B is  saying  his 

prayers  down-stairs.  He  is  always  saying  his 
prayers.  I  wish  somebody  could  stop  him. 
It  does  not  seem,  to  do  him  the  least  good." 

"  Oh,  but  it  is  hot  in  the  tree,"  said  Count 
Romeo,  unable  to  support  the  heat  any 
longer.  "  It  is  like  the  Inferno  of  Dante, 
instead  of  the  house  of  God,"  and  he  began 
quoting  a  line  of  the  Divine  Poet  to  himself. 
Yet  fate  had  greater  trials  in  store  for  his 

"3 


Among  French  Inns 

Excellency  than  the  warmth  of  the  weather 
or  the  atmosphere  of  the  chapel.  As  he 
started  down  the  open  stairs,  without  think- 
ing of  the  dangers  before  him,  behold,  his 
Excellency's  foot  slipped  and  went  through 
one  of  the  openings  of  the  steps,  and  oh, 
mis  eric  or  dial  his  Excellency's  heavy  frame 
rolled  down  the  whole  length  to  the  ground. 
There  he  lay  in  a  bewildered  heap,  moaning 
and  muttering  in  broken  English  and  Italian, 
and  evidently  bruised  and  shaken  up. 

Mrs.  Wilton,  in  alarm,  hurried  after  him. 
Her  daughter  and  the  Englishman,  who 
could  not  help  smiling  at  the  ridiculous 
figure  of  the  count  rolling  over  and  over  on 
the  ground  at  the  foot  of  the  oak,  soon  fol- 
lowed and  endeavoured  to  assist  him.  The 
Frenchman,  whose  devotions  had  been  inter- 
rupted by  the  clatter  of  the  fall,  darted  out 
of  the  chapel  below,  his  eyes  flashing  with 
excitement.  A  small  crowd  was  soon  gath- 
ered about  the  fallen  Romeo,  all  offering 
suggestions   and   restoratives. 

"  Quickly,  Gladys,  get  my  smelling-salts," 
cried  Mrs.  Wilton,  who  had  assumed  charge 
of  the  operation  of  restoring  the  count  to 
himself. 

"  Oi,  oi,  oi!  give  me  air,  give  me  time," 
114 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

groaned  his  Excellency,  not  knowing  whether 
he  was  dead  or  alive.  He  was  sputtering 
and  talking,  calling  upon  ""  mio  padre  I*  and 
"  mia  madre!'  —  both  of  whom  had  died 
some  years  previously,  —  and  summoning  all 
the  saints  in  the  calendar  to  witness  his  mis- 
fortune. 

"  We  must  send  for  un  medecin  at  once. 
The  blood  is  all  in  the  head.  Lift  the  body. 
Lift  the  limbs.  If  he  were  to  have  an  at- 
tack!" The  Frenchman  was  in  a  delirium 
of  excitement. 

"  Do  be  quiet,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton,  who  by 
this  time  was  ordering  the  chauffeurs  to  prop 
up  the  count  with  pillows. 

"  I  think  there  is  really  no  serious  trouble," 
said  the  Englishman,  who  had  been  calmly 
feeling  of  the  count  during  all  the  turmoil 
and  hubbub  which  the  accident  had  occa- 
sioned. 

'^  TiensI  II  respire!  '^  exclaimed  the 
Frenchman.  "  Breathe  gently,  count;  take 
matters  calmly.  Remember  the  blood  in  the 
head  and  how  warm  the  day  is." 

By  this  time  the  count  was  coming  to  him- 
self a  little,  and  felt  some  reassurance  and  a 
slight  desire  to  get  upon  his  feet  again.    This 


"5 


Among  French  Inns 

was  accomplished  with  the  aid  of  the  assem- 
bled company. 

"  If  the  bones  are  broken  I  cannot  feel  it," 
said  his  Excellency. 

"You  must  wait;  the  pain  comes  later. 
You  may  be  in  the  agony.  Step  gently. 
Move  cautiously.  Cover  your  head  with  a 
wet  handkerchief,"  exclaimed  the  French- 
man, in  comforting  and  sympathetic  tones. 
And  so  the  count  was  moved  to  the  automo- 
bile, and  there  deposited  in  state  beside  his 
hostess  once  more,  and  the  cavalcade  was 
allowed  to  proceed,  at  an  easy  pace,  to  Cau- 
debec. 

"  It  certainly  is  a  mercy  that  no  bones  were 
broken,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton,  in  relief. 

"  You  must  look  before  you  leap,  count," 
said  the  Englishman,  philosophically;  and 
the  remainder  of  the  conversation  was  smoth- 
ered in  a  cloud  of  dust. 


ii6 


CHAPTER  IV 

CAUDEBEC  TO  ROUEN 

Caudebec  is  a  delightful  place,  and  an 
excellent  centre  for  excursions  to  rural  places 
of  interest  in  the  neighbourhood.  The  town 
itself  is  picturesque  in  the  extreme,  suggest- 
ing, as  other  writers  have  before  mentioned, 
a  combination  of  the  Italian  and  the  Norman. 

Situated  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  and 
surrounded  by  ideal  scenery,  it  possesses  a 
view  over  an  extensive  horizon,  including 
Villequier  on  one  side,  and  St.  Wandrille, 
with  its  beautiful  monastery,  on  the  other, 
while  in  the  centre  of  the  picture  arise  in 
the  distance  the  trees  of  the  forest  of  Bro- 
tonne,  the  towers  of  Jumieges,  as  well  as  the 
magnificent  park  and  chateau  of  la  Maille- 
raie. 

The  name  of  Caudebec  is  said  to  come 
from  the  old  name  Caletensium  Beccus, 
meaning  the  River  of  Caux.  The  basin  of 
water  which  has  given  its  name  to  the  town 

117 


Among  French  Inns 

is  to-day  drawn  from  the  little  stream  of 
St.  Gertrude.  Opposite  the  town  itself 
there  existed  in  a  remote  period  an  island 
formed  by  the  river  Seine,  on  which  some 
Celtic  druids  once  established  one  of  their 
mysterious  colleges.  The  town,  with  its 
prehistoric  associations,  is  in  its  way  a  gem. 
Its  view,  which  is  one  of  those  that  are  at 
once  the  glory  and  the  joy  of  the  French 
country,  is  as  worthy  of  the  study  of  an 
artist's  pen  or  brush  as  are  the  quaint  streets, 
the  ancient  houses,  of  at  least  four  centuries, 
and  the  overhanging  gables  and  beams,  which 
make  each  corner  and  each  turn  a  picture  in 
itself. 

The  automobiles,  bearing  the  almost  life- 
less body  of  the  count,  paused  at  the  door 
of  the  Hotel  de  la  Marine,  and  their  occu- 
pants entered  the  establishment,  and  being 
pleased  with  its  appearance,  assured  of  its 
comforts  by  the  host,  and  tired  after  the  exer- 
tion of  the  afternoon,  concluded  to  remain 
and  rest  themselves  after  their  journey.  In 
the  soft  afternoon  light  the  whole  place  was 
aglow  with  mellow  tones,  and  the  dim,  de- 
parting sunshine,  which  gives  to  everything 
in  France  a  magic  touch  of  fancy.  Here 
wc  are  no  longer  troubled  by  the  cares  of 

ii8 


Caudebec  to  Rouen 

life,  the  duties  of  the  ever  busy  world,  the 
worries  of  ill-natured  thoughts,  the  sorrows 
of  desires  unfulfilled.  The  time  is  one  of 
holiday,  forgetfulness,  and  rest,  surrounded 
by  pictures  and  thoughts  so  alien  to  man's 
viler  moods  that  it  is  impossible  to  resist  the 
influence,  or  to  deny  the  hand  that  leads  us 
to  forget  ourselves  and  to  enjoy  the  scene. 

"  It  would  be  too  late  to  go  back  to  Fe- 
camp to-night,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton.  "We 
may  as  well  stay  here,  and  give  Count  di 
Pomponi  a  chance  to  rest  and  recover.  He 
certainly  needs  it,  for  he  has  hardly  said 
a  word  since  we  left  the  tree  at  Allouville." 

So  it  was  decided  to  remain  at  Caudebec, 
and  the  gentlemen  were  kept  busy  sending 
**  des  tele  grammes''  and  '^  des  communica- 
tions" to  Mr.  Blodget  Wilton  at  Fecamp. 

"Tell  him  to  come  here,  or  go  on  to 
Rouen,  whichever  he  likes  the  best,"  said  his 
thoughtful  wife,  realizing  that  Mr.  Wilton 
might  take  it  into  his  head  to  dislike  the 
Hotel  de  la  Marine  as  much  as  she  and  her 
companions  liked  it  —  and  realizing  also, 
in  her  thoughtfulness  and  masterful  intelli- 
gence, that  she  might  also  wish  to  go  on  to 
Rouen  in  the  morning. 

There  was  a  scene  at  the  Postes  et  Tele- 
119 


Among  French  Inns 

graphes  while  arranging  some  suitable  words 
in  French  that  Mr.  Wilton  would  be  able  to 
understand. 

*'  Ces  messieurs  do  not  wish  ce  Monsieur 
Wilton  to  know  that  the  madame  remains 
here  alone?"  queried  the  operator,  ready  to 
aid  in  an  intrigue,  if  need  be. 

"  Good  gracious,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton, 
horrified  at  the  idea. 

"  Oh,  I  only  thought  the  madame  might 
not  wish  the  monsieur  to  know,"  added  the 
lady  operator,  soothingly.  "  Madame  has 
so  many  messieurs  with  her,  no  doubt  one 
more  will  make  no  difference." 

"  Do  I  look  respectable,  or  do  I  not?    Tell 

me.  Monsieur  de  B ?  "  demanded  Mrs. 

Wilton,  in  great  concern. 

"  I  do  not  think  anybody  would  desire  to 
*  enlever'  Madame  Wilton,"  said  the  French- 
man, with  great  gallantry.  It  would  indeed 
have  been  a  dangerous  undertaking  for  any 
one  to  have  attempted  such  a  thing  if  they 
could  have  seen  Mrs.  Blodget  Wilton  in  all 
her  matronly  dignity  at  that  moment,  her 
feathers  bristling  with  virtue,  her  nose  more 
like  the  beak  of  a  hen  than  ever,  her  whole 
figure  commanding  respect  and  submission 
to   her   nobility   of    purpose.      At   length    a 

1 20 


Caudebec  to  Rouen 

suitable  telegram  was  framed,  and  the  party 
returned  to  the  hotel  by  the  way  it  had  come. 

The  streets  of  Caudebec  present  a  most 
interesting  appearance  to  the  visitor  who 
passes  through  them.  Their  narrow,  wind- 
ing features  are  in  every  sense  a  study  for 
the  artist.  The  old  beams  and  carving  on 
the  houses  have  an  air  of  age  in  keeping  with 
the  atmosphere  of  Normandy.  The  churches 
are  of  rare  beauty.  The  quay,  with  its 
hotels,  its  life,  its  houses,  suggests,  as  we  have 
said,  a  town  of  Italy.  In  short,  the  whole 
place  is  surrounded  by  a  charm  not  easily 
to  be  surpassed  in  France. 

In  the  ninth  century  Caudebec  was  a 
simple  abode  of  fishermen,  and  its  foundation, 
may  be  really  ascribed  to  the  inhabitants 
of  the  island  of  Balcinac,  which  was  sub- 
sequently engulfed  by  the  river  Seine. 
Fearful  of  its  future,  they  repaired  to  the 
mainland,  and  the  monks,  who  were  all- 
powerful  in  those  days,  received  certain 
grants  and  privileges  from  Charles  le 
Chauve.  The  Benedictines  of  Fontenelle 
received  from  Richard  II.  a  confirmation  of 
their  rights,  as  possessors  of  Caudebec  and 
its  surroundings,  and  William  the  Conqueror 
gave    to    them    those    of    Balcinac.      In    the 

121 


Among  French  Inns 

reign  of  Henry  I.,  the  market  which  was 
held  at  St.  Wandrille  was  transferred  to 
Caudebec,  and  thus  the  town  grew  slowly 
in  size  and  prosperity. 

In  the  fifteenth  century  the  place  was 
deemed  worthy  of  a  military  fortification, 
and  possessed  walls  flanked  by  towers  and 
donjons.  In  1419,  during  the  invasion  of 
Normandy  by  the  English,  Caudebec  en- 
dured a  six  months'  siege,  at  the  end  of  which 
it  was  forced  to  surrender  to  Warwick  and 
Talbot,  the  generals  whom  Henry  V.  had 
placed  in  command  of  his  forces.  Caudebec 
is  associated  with  a  considerable  number  of 
events  in  history  during  the  fifteenth  century, 
which  was  its  period  of  greatest  military 
activity.  Were  we  permitted  the  time  or 
space,  in  so  short  a  study  as  this,  to  trace 
the  several  occasions  upon  which  its  inhabit- 
ants have  attacked  their  enemies,  both  by  the 
sword  and  by  the  pen,  we  might  find  much 
that  was  of  interest  in  the  pages  of  their 
history.  So  frequently^  however,  have  the 
defenders  of  Caudebec  resorted  to  the  poign- 
ant use  of  words  m  verse,  which  have  been 
parried  between  them  and  their  enemies, 
that  we  may  not  inappropriately  add  a  line 
of  query  to  the  adage  of  the  poet,  and  ask: 

122 


Caudebec  to  Rouen 

"  What  wound  lies  deeper  than  a  word  ? 
*  The  pen  is  mightier  than  the  sword.' " 

The  events  which  characterized  the  his- 
tory of  Caudebec  prior  to  the  reign  of  Louis 
XII.  were  more  of  a  martial  than  an  indus- 
trial nature.  Charles  VII.  and  Louis  XL 
have  both  figured  in  the  scenes  which  have 
been  enacted  here.  Charles  le  Temeraire 
appeared  in  warlike  array  before  the  town, 
but  did  not  succeed  in  taking  it.  The 
Huguenots  followed,  and  the  name  of  Henry 
IV.  also  appears  upon  this  page  of  its  his- 
tory. Here  also  the  Prince  de  Parme  in 
his  attack  upon  Caudebec  received  the  wound 
from  whose  effects  he  subsequently  died. 
Thus,  through  the  early  centuries  of  its 
existence,  this  picturesque  and  interesting 
place  fought  for  its  identity  and  its  preser- 
vation. Later,  in  the  more  peaceful  days 
which  followed,  the  Norman  tendency 
toward  industry,  so  noticeable  upon  all  sides 
to-day,  found  opportunity  to  assert  itself 
and  prosper. 

Such,  then,  is  the  history  of  Caudebec  in  a 
few  words,  one  which  stirs  the  imagination 
to  its  review  of  chivalry  and  valour,  and 
brings  it  to  the  natural  pursuits  of  peace. 
Through  its  varied  fortunes  it  was  enabled 

123 


Among  French  Inns 

to  grow  into  a  well-worn  picture  of  the  past, 
which  now  draws  to  it  the  worship  of  the 
passing  pilgrims.  Each  shade  seems  laden 
with  a  hundred  recollections;  each  sunlit 
spot  the  object  of  a  quaint  renown  brought 
into  one  whole  composite  form,  that  still 
possesses  something  of  the  touch  of  time. 

The  morning  after  the  arrival  of  the  auto- 
mobilists  at  the  Hotel  de  la  Marine  was 
cold  and  cloudy,  and  the  Englishman  had 
indulged  in  a  fire  in  his  room  before  de- 
jeuner.  After  having  finished  some  letters, 
he  descended  to  the  office  and  sought  the 
head  of  the  establishment,  and  gave  orders 
to  have  the  fire  kept  up  in  his  chamber.  His 
French,  alas,  left  something  still  to  be  desired, 
and  his  choice  of  words  was  at  times  embar- 
rassing in  its  results. 

^^  Ne  laissez  pas  ce  fou  s*en  aller,  dans 
cette  chamhre/'  said  he  to  the  good  host  at 
the  office,  never  thinking  what  effect  his 
mistake  in  pronouncing  the  word  "  fire " 
would  produce. 

The  astonished  host,  hearing  the  word 
''  fou/'  immediately  supposed  that  there  was  a 
crazy  man  in  the  room  above,  and  communi- 
cated at  once  with  the  madame.  The  word 
flew  like  wild-fire  through  the  lower  regions 

124 


Caudebec  to  Rouen 

of  the  establishment  that  there  was  *'  un  fou  " 
shut  up  in  one  of  the  rooms  of  the  Hotel  de  la 
Marine  at  Caudebec.  The  Englishman, 
meanwhile,  had  gone  forth  for  a  morning 
walk,  little  dreaming  of  the  mischief  that  he 
had  unwittingly  created. 

The  employees  of  the  hotel,  after  the  news 
had  once  spread  among  them,  with  the  neces- 
sary exaggeration  and  embellishment  (which 
we  will  leave  for  the  imagination),  were  in  a 
perfect  frenzy  of  excitement.  It  was  decided 
to  reconnoitre  through  the  upper  regions, 
and  discover,  if  possible,  in  which  room  the 
wild  man,  the  madman,  the  maniac  —  for 
such  he  had  now  become  in  the  minds  of 
these  simple  Norman  folk  —  was  then  en- 
closed. 

"  Think  of  their  bringing  a  maniac  with 
them,"  said  the  waiter  to  the  maid. 

"Oh,  these  English!  What  tricks  they 
play  us,  taking  our  hotel  by  storm  in  such 
a  fashion.  Do  they  think  we  are  a  lunatic 
asylum,  that  they  bring  their  fools  with 
them?"  said  another. 

"  Perhaps  he  went  mad  on  the  road,"  sug- 
gested the  madame.  "  One  might  well  go 
crazy,  riding  in  those  infernal  machines  all 
day  long,  with  the  rattle  and  buzzing  in  the 

125 


Among  French  Inns 

ears,  and  the  dust  in  the  eyes,  he  bon  Dieu 
nous  protege,  I  hope  he  will  not  try  to  kill 
any  one." 

"  Calm  yourself,"  said  the  host  to  his  wife. 
"  Let  us  see  where  he  is,  and  if  he  will  be 
violent,  or  easy  to  bind  and  tie  down  to  a 
chair.  Dominic,  bring  a  stout  cord  to  bind 
him  if  he  kicks  and  tries  to  jump  at  us.  Ah, 
we  will  manage  him  if  he  jumps  at  our 
throats!" 

So  saying,  they  came  to  the  door  of  the 
unsuspecting  count,  who  was  singing  a  popu- 
lar Neapolitan  air  to  himself  while  com- 
pleting his  toilet.  He,  too,  had  had  a  fire  in 
his  room,  and  at  once  the  people  outside, 
crouching  stealthily  in  the  passage,  decided 
that  this  was  the  ^' fou"  whom  the  Englishman 
had  cautioned  them  not  to  allow  to  go  out. 
In  a  twinkling  of  the  eye  —  in  a  shorter  space 
of  time  even  than  it  has  taken  to  write  down 
these  words —  the  maitre  d'hotel  had  turned 
the  handle  of  the  door,  poked  in  his  head, 
snatched  the  key  from  the  inside,  and  locked 
the  poor  count  securely  from  the  outside. 

*^  The  robbers  are  in  the  house!  "  exclaimed 
his  Excellency,  who  had  turned  his  head  in 
time  to  see  this  sudden  performance,  and  was 


126 


Caudebec  to  Rouen 

convinced  that  he  was  then  and  there  the 
victim  of  "  foul  play." 

"Oh,  the  robbers!  The  rascals!  They 
seek  to  keep  me  in  the  room,  perhaps  to 
murder  me!  Oh,  misericordia!  Au  secours! 
Help!  Murder!  Oii  suis-je?  Que  faire?*' 
And  with  this  he  threw  his  heavy  frame 
against  the  old  and  trembling  door  with  a 
violence  that  nearly  broke  it  through. 

Those  in  the  hall  were  preparing  for  the 
emergency,  and  were  planning  to  scale  the 
outside  of  the  house  with  ladders  and  ex- 
tract the  maniac  from  a  window,  when  Mrs. 
Wilton,  attracted  by  the  clatter  and  noise, 
came  forth  to  discover  the  cause.  Her  sur- 
prise was  great  when  she  beheld  most  of 
the  servants  of  the  place  assembled  outside 
the  door  of  the  Count  di  Pomponi,  and  heard 
the  cries  of  his  Excellency  from  within. 

"Good  gracious!  What  is  the  matter?" 
she  exclaimed.  "  Has  his  Excellency  gone 
mad?  Or  is  he  in  a  delirium  from  the  effects 
of  his  accident?  " 

"  Oh,  madame,  he  certainly  has  gone  mad ; 
and  the  English  monsieur  has  given  strict 
orders  for  him  to  be  carefully  guarded  while 
he  has  gone  for  the  doctor  or  the  police, 
who  can  tell  which?     Oh,  madame,  this  is 

127 


Among  French  Inns 

a  terrible  affliction  that  you  have  brought 
on  our  quiet  hotel!  Oh,  oh,  oh!"  And 
the  madame  went  off  into  violent  hysterics 
on  the  spot. 

The  count  was  still  crying  out  and  kicking 
at  the  door  and  shouting  "  Murder "  from 
within,  and  for  the  moment  Mrs.  Wilton 
really  thought  he  had  lost  his  reason.  Still, 
she  waited  and  eventually  held  parley  with 
the  suspected  lunatic. 

"  Do  calm  yourself,  count.  What  is  the 
matter?  Is  your  head  disordered  from  your 
fall  yesterday?  Pray  sit  down  and  let  us 
come  in  and  talk  to  you.  No  one  is  going  to 
murder  you." 

"  Oh,  chere  madame,  the  head  is  all  be- 
wildered," cried  the  count,  getting  hopelessly 
muddled  with  his  English.  "  The  rascalated 
thieves  would  have  murthered  me.  Ah, 
they  would.  But  you  save  me.  Wait  until 
I  tie  the  neckties  under  the  neck  and  you 
shall  coame  in  and  let  me  free.  Oh,  the 
shock!  Oh,  the  agony  of  fear!  The  heart 
he  is  thumping  and  thumping  in  the  boosom. 
He  is —  There  —  now,"  and  the  count 
subsided  within. 

"  But  the  madame  must  not  go  into  the 
room.     The  monsieur  is   completement  fou. 

128 


Caudebec  to  Rouen 

It  is  not  safe.  No,  no!  Madame  must  stay 
where  she  is  untif  the  police  come  to  investi- 
gate," said  the  maitre  d'hotel. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  wait  until 
the  Englishman  returned,  to  unravel  the 
tangle  of  affairs  and  clear  the  situation. 

This  he  mercifully  did  in  a  short  time. 
The  mistake  was  explained.  The  count  was 
set  free.  The  host  apologized  to  his  Excel- 
lency in  wonderful  language,  and  every  one 
went  down-stairs  and  drank  his  health  in  a 
glass  of  cider. 

The  inns  of  Normandy  are  not  expensive 
as  a  rule.  The  rooms  and  furnishings  may 
be  simple  or  primitive,  but  the  food  is  usu- 
ally excellent,  and  the  atmosphere  both 
quaint  and  genial.  The  visitor,  when  once 
admitted,  is  made  to  feel  at  home,  and  en- 
joys his  stay.  He  is  regaled  with  anecdotes 
and  stories  by  those  whom  he  meets,  and 
finds  plenty  to  amuse  him  while  he  remains. 

The  stay  at  Caudebec  was  no  exception 
to  this  rule,  when  once  the  painful  effects  of 
the  above  incident  had  worn  away,  and  our 
friends  found  themselves  more  than  pleased 
with  the  atmosphere  of  the  place  and  its 
surroundings.  The  principal  church  is  a 
beautiful    example    of    architecture,    and    is 

129 


Among  French  Inns 

pleasing  both  to  the  senses  and  the  eye.  It  is 
known  as  L'Eglise  de  Caudebec.  The  open 
space,  in  front  of  it,  has  been  used  as  a 
market,  and  it  is  here  that  the  people  of 
the  neighbourhood  gather  on  certain  days  to 
form  that  scene  so  typical  of  Continental  life 
and  so  indicative  of  this  locality. 

In  France  the  ''jour  du  marche^'  is  one 
of  the  events  of  the  week,  and  is  attended  by 
an  activity  on  the  part  of  the  country  people 
which  is  both  picturesque  and  entertaining. 
It  is  here  that  pigs  and  cows  find  their 
price,  and  the  peasants  the  reward  for  their 
labours  in  the  field.  Here,  on  the  tables  or 
the  booths  erected  for  the  day,  are  to  be 
found  all  the  local  produce,  fruits,  vegetables, 
and  all  forms  of  food-stuffs,  as  well  as  gar- 
ments, trinkets,  and  every  conceivable  article 
which  could  be  sold.  Here  we  hear  the 
cackle  of  the  hen,  and  observe  the  young  calf 
elongate  his  soft,  pink  tongue  in  gentle  en- 
dearment. Here  is  the  bargaining  and  the 
gossip,  the  barter  and  the  sale,  and  here  the 
meeting  of  the  worthy  farmers  in  their  quaint 
costume. 

To  the  "  marche"  repair,  you  who  would 
observe  the  Norman  peasant  in  his  element, 
and  study  his  desires  and  his  ways.     He  is 

130 


>     >   u     » 


MARKET-PLACE,    CAUDEBEC 


Caudebec  to  Rouen 

distinctive  and  striking,  and  invites  more  than 
a  passing  glance.  He  is  a  shrewd  fellow 
at  a  bargain,  and  knows  the  value  of  his 
wares. 

After  a  visit  to  the  interior  of  the  church, 
which  possesses  many  interesting  points,  the 
party  was  constrained  to  visit  the  "  Convent 
des  Capucins,''  an  ancient  establishment  over- 
looking the  Seine.  Situated  on  the  side  of  a 
high,  rocky  elevation,  its  terraces  descend 
toward  the  river  and  afford  a  magnificent 
view  over  the  beautiful  scenery,  unsurpassed 
in  this  part  of  Normandy.  It  is  an  appro- 
priate place  for  meditation  and  religious 
inspiration,  in  the  halo  of  the  sunlight,  and 
resting  beneath  the  clear  blue  heaven  and 
the  beauty  of  its  surroundings. 

"Have  you  ever,  thought  that  you  would 
like  to  be  a  nun?"  asked  the  Frenchman  of 
Miss  Wilton,  as  they  stood  near  the  convent, 
overlooking  the  view  before  them. 

"  I  must  confess  that  I  never  have,"  said 
she;  "  but  what  has  made  you  think  of  such 
a  thing?  Do  I  look  as  if  I  were  inclined  to 
take  the  veil?  To  begin  with,  I  am  not  a 
Roman  Catholic,  and  then  I  fear  there  is 
nothing  in  the  life  that  I  lead  which  would 
fit  me  for  such  a  vocation." 

131 


Amo7ig  French  Inns 

"  Oh,  in  France,  our  young  women  of 
position  are  frequently  drawn  to  this,  even 
those  who  have  led  a  life  of  pure  frivolity 
and  pleasure,  without  much  previous  study 
or  preparation.  They  find  in  it  a  peace  and 
rest  from  the  vanity  of  existence,  a  tran- 
quillity to  the  soul,  which  it  is  impossible 
to  obtain  in  the  evils  of  Paris,  or  by  the 
persons  who  inhabit  it.  You  know  we  are 
people  of  extreme  feeling,  and  we  frequently 
have  strong  reactions  in  our  sentiments.'' 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  my  time 
was  spent  rather  aimlessly,"  said  Miss 
Wilton,  "  but  I  do  not  think  that  I  should 
really  be  happy  in  a  convent.  The  way  in 
which  we  are  brought  up  in  America  is  very 
different  from  France.  We  have  much 
more  freedom  there,  and  are  able  to  enjoy 
it  in  a  more  healthy  way  than  young  girls 
on  the  Continent  of  Europe." 

"  That  is  because  your  men  have  no  tem- 
perament," remarked  the  Frenchman.  '*  They 
go  to  their  office  in  the  morning  and  think  of 
nothing  but  business  all  day,  and  in  the 
evening  are  too  tired  to  care  to  do  much  of 
anything  but  read  the  newspaper.  The 
women  must  be  free  to  fill  up  their  time  as 
they  please." 

132 


Caudebec  to  Rouen 

"  That  may  be  partly  true,"  said  Miss 
Wilton,  "  but  though  the  foreigners  are  more 
entertaining  to  talk  to,  I  think  our  American 
men  inspire  more  confidence  in  us  when  it 
comes  to  anything  that  is  really  of  impor- 
tance. It  is  more  possible  for  us  to  be  friends 
than  it  is  with  you." 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  the  Frenchman,  who  did 
not  entirely  fancy  the  trend  which  the  con- 
versation was  taking,  ^^  Ah,  yes.  But  how 
much  more  pleasure  we  have  in  our  lives! 
And  how  much  more  brilliant  is  the  life  of 
an  American  who  marries  a  Frenchman! 
Think  of  the  beauty  of  our  country  and  the 
charm  of  our  life  in  it.  We  have  time  to 
enjoy,  and  to  spend  what  we  have  in  enjoy- 
ment, rather  than  seeking  always  to  increase 
our  fortunes.  Ah,  Miss  Wilton,  you  would 
be  happier  over  here,  much  happier,"  and 
the  Frenchman  glowed  with  enthusiasm  at 
the  idea. 

"  Your  picture  is  very  attractive.  Mon- 
sieur de  B ,"  replied  Miss  Wilton,  droop- 
ing her  eyes,  "  but  I  do  not  think  that  I 
know  my  own  mind  yet,  and  papa  says  I 
must  marry  an  American  business  man  who 
has  made  his  own  way  in  the  world,  like 
himself.     Still,  I  do  not  think  that  I  have 

133 


Among  French  Inns 

seen  one  whom  I  should  care  to  marry,  as 
yet." 

The  Frenchman  saw  hopeful  signs  in  Miss 
Wilton's  mood,  and  was  about  to  follow  up 
the  impression  he  had  made,  but  the  English- 
man suddenly  joined  them,  the  conversation 
became  general,  and  the  moment  was  lost. 

"  I  have  ordered  carriages  to  be  ready  on 
our  return  to  take  us  to  St.  Wandrille,"  said 
Mrs.  Wilton,  as  they  started  for  the  hotel. 
"  There  is  something  the  matter  with  one  of 
the  automobiles,  and  I  think  a  drive  will 
soothe  the  count's  nerves.  What  say  you, 
count? " 

"Oh,  advantageous,  advantageous!"  ex- 
claimed his  Excellency,  delighted  at  the 
thought  of  a  more  reposeful  method  of  loco- 
motion. "  We  will  pass  in  quiet  over  the 
road,  and  my  poor  bones  will  be  less  jolted." 

The  drive  to  St.  Wandrille  was  a  beautiful 
one,  through  the  glorious  domestic  country 
of  Upper  Normandy,  so  genial  and  smiling 
that  each  turn  presents  a  picture,  and  each 
grove  some  fairylike  creation  of  nature. 
The  Abbaye  de  St.  Wandrille  itself  is  one 
of  the  glories  of  this  region,  and  is  one  of  the 
most  picturesque  and  beautiful  in  existence. 
It  was    founded    about    the    middle    of    the 

134 


Caudebec  to  Rouen 

seventh  century  by  Wandrille,  or  Wandre- 
gisilus,  a  member  of  the  court  belonging  to 
the  Merovingian  king. 

The  pious  Wandrille,  whom  posterity  has 
created  a  saint,  was  joined  by  several  hun- 
dred monks,  whose  influence  upon  the 
history  of  this  region,  both  ecclesiastic  and 
secular,  became  great  and  lasting.  A  num- 
ber of  churches  were  built  about  the  abbey, 
whose  cloisters  are  of  rare  beauty  and  grace 
of  architecture.  They  should  be  visited  by 
all  who  are  interested  in  the  historic  monu- 
ments of  Normandy. 

As  it  is  not  the  province  of  this  book  to 
describe  in  detail  the  religious  edifices  of 
this  province,  we  may  not  do  more  than  give 
a  passing  word  of  comment  to  so  beautiful 
a  place,  filled  with  the  atmosphere  of  sanc- 
tity, which  God  alone  can  give  to  his 
sanctuaries,  and  surrounded  by  its  mantle 
of  age  and  history.  The  air  seems  filled 
with  something  of  a  holier  order,  and  the 
visitor  breathes  in  the  meaning  of  these 
ancient  monasteries,  which  have  done  so 
much  to  mould  the  spiritual,  as  well  as  tem- 
poral, life  of  France,  through  the  pages  of 
her  history  and  development. 

That  they  should  be  so  nearly  done  away 
135 


Among  French  Inns 

with  by  the  exigencies  of  modern  times,  must 
ever  be  a  regret  to  those  who  visit  such 
places  as  the  Abbaye  de  St.  Wandrille, 
near  Caudebec,  and  that  the  cloistered  life 
which  they  contain  should  be  no  more,  seems 
sad  to  contemplate.  However  necessary  may 
have  been  the  change,  the  pilgrim  must  feel 
regret  at  their  departure,  and  mourn,  when 
worshipping  at  their  shrine,  the  dead  or 
dying  past  which  was  so  glorious  a  sacrifice 
to  God. 

Normandy  has  ever  been  foremost  in 
religious  history.  From  the  days  of  the 
Conqueror  to  Jeanne  d'Arc,  the  enthusiasm, 
which  belief  in  sacred  things  brought  forth, 
was  uppermost.  In  peace,  as  in  war,  it 
held  sway,  and  guided  the  Normans  to 
deeds  of  glory  and  achievement,  making  an 
earnest  of  their  lives  and  an  example  of 
their  characters.  We  cannot  but  recognize 
and  applaud  this  quality,  however  frequently 
it  may  have  erred  on  the  side  of  fanatic  zeal, 
or  ambition  that  was  misguided  or  devoid 
of  better  judgment.  The  marks  of  its  exist- 
ence remain  imprinted  upon  its  people,  and 
have  stamped  themselves  upon  its  history. 
It  is  not  to  be  ignored,  nor  passed  lightly  by, 
in  any  study  of  this  country  or  its  people. 

136 


Caudebec  to  Rouen 

"  I  should  like  to  spend  days  wandering 
in  and  out  of  these  old  cloisters,"  said  Miss 
Wilton  to  the  Frenchman,  who  was  pointing 
out  to  her  the  beauties  of  the  abbey.  ''  There 
is  something  exquisitely  peaceful  and  serene 
in  the  atmosphere  which  pervades  the  place, 
that  seems  to  hold  one  here." 

"Why  should  it  not  hold  you  here?" 
asked  the  Frenchman,  suddenly.  "  You 
would  certainly  be  happier  than  in  America, 
where  you  find  so  little  to  inspire  or  lift 
you  above  the  commercial  elements  of  every- 
day life.  What  have  you  there,  out  of  all 
the  luxury  and  the  striving,  that  is  really 
satisfying  to  your  soul?  Ah,  mademoiselle, 
I  know  your  feelings  better  than  you  do 
yourself.  You  may  not  dare  to  acknowledge 
it,  but  France  holds  out  more  to  you  than 
America.     Why  not  recognize  it  and  stay? '' 

But  Miss  Wilton  said  nothing,  and  some- 
how the  Frenchman  was  constrained  to 
silence  also,  though  he  knew  that  he  had  pro- 
duced an  efifect  upon  the  mind  of  the  fair 
American  heiress  who  was  beside  him,  in  the 
cloisters  of  the  Abbaye  de  St.  Wandrille, 
in  the  soft  light  of  the  afternoon. 

On  their  return  to  Caudebec,  Mrs.  Wilton 
went  to  her  daughter's  room  before  retiring. 

137 


Among  French  Inns 

She  was  sure  that  something  had  occurred 
during  the  excursion  of  the  afternoon,  to 
make  Gladys  so  absorbed  in  her  thoughts 
during  the  evening,  for  she  had  scarcely 
spoken  after  dinner. 

"  What  was  Monsieur  de  B saying  to 

you  in  the  cloisters  of  St.  Wandrille  this 
afternoon?"  she  asked,  abruptly,  hoping  to 
gain  some  clue  to  her  daughter's  mysterious 
silence.  ^^  He  seemed  to  be  very  much  in- 
terested in  something." 

"  I  hardly  remember,  mamma,"  her  daugh- 
ter answered;  "he  was  speaking  about  the 
abbey  and  the  effect  that  it  produced  on 
people  —  and  different  things." 

Mrs.  Wilton  saw  that  her  daughter  was 
not  inclined  to  go  into  the  details  of  the 
conversation,  and,  very  wisely,  did  not 
question  her.  She  was  far  too  experienced  in 
the  ways  of  the  world  not  to  realize  that 
something  had  been  said  in  the  cloisters,  and, 
womanlike,  she  set  herself  to  consider  what 
the  consequences  of  that  something  might  be 
to  the  fortunes  of  the  house  of  Wilton. 

She  fell  asleep,  however,  without  having 
reached  any  satisfactory  conclusion.  But  she 
decided  that  it  would  be  best  to  be  on  the 
alert,  and  to  observe  carefully  the  signs  of 

138 


Caudebec  to  Rouen 

the  times,  and  the  direction  in  which  the 
wind  might  be  blowing,  before  talking  the 
matter  over  with  her  husband. 

Prudent  mother!  Cautious  wife!  Can  we 
blame  her  for  a  natural  interest  in  her  only 
daughter's  welfare,  and  a  desire  that  it 
should  be  so  moulded  as  to  bring  greatness 
and  honour  to  her  family,  and  guard  the 
integrity  of  her  vast  fortune?  She  would 
indeed  have  been  lacking  in  maternal  duty 
had  she  failed  to  do  so.  Still,  there  were 
many  human  beings  in  the  world,  many 
marriageable  bachelors,  and  much  time 
ahead.  Perhaps  it  would  be  well  to  wait  and 
see  what  the  future  might  bring  forth.  And 
so  night  fell  over  the  reflections  of  Mrs. 
Blodget  Wilton,  and  sleep  enfolded  her 
senses  in  its  restful  embrace. 


139 


CHAPTER    V 

ROUEN 

The  following  day  the  whole  party  em- 
barked on  one  of  the  pleasure-steamers 
which  ply  their  way  up  the  Seine  from 
Havre  to  Rouen.  They  stepped  on  board 
with  feelings  that  increased  in  expectation 
as  they  left  Caudebec  and  glided  up  the 
river  toward  the  ancient  capital  of  Nor- 
mandy. 

There  are,  perhaps,  few  sensations  more 
agreeable  than  the  pleasurable  anticipation 
of  visiting  an  old  town  that  has  been  the 
scene  of  innumerable  events  in  history,  and 
contains  a  world  of  traditions  behind  its 
crumbling  stones.  If  we  know  something 
of  this  history,  or  have  already  seen  pictures 
of  those  monuments  that  still  remain,  it  adds 
tenfold  to  the  pleasure  of  our  visit.  Still 
more,  if  we  approach  it  amid  attractive 
surroundings,  our  idle  thoughts  assume  a 
character  all  the  more  pleasing  to  ourselves. 

140 


Rouen 

As  we  wind  our  way  up  the  river,  which 
turns  upon  itself  at  least  three  times  during 
the  journey,  a  misty  picture  of  Rouen  rises 
to  the  mind,  out  of  the  green  orchards  and 
rolling  fields.  The  spire  of  its  beautiful 
cathedral,  the  details  of  the  Churches  of  St. 
Ouen  and  St.  Maclou,  the  halls  of  the  Palais 
de  Justice,  the  faces  of  William  the  Con- 
queror, of  Jeanne  d'Arc,  of  many  heroes  of 
romantic  history  who  have  figured  in  past 
events  of  this  capital  of  ancient  Norman 
power,  succeed  one  another  in  a  strange  and 
wondrous  mass.  They  give  to  us  a  glimpse 
into  the  past,  through  these  images  por- 
trayed upon  the  mind. 

As  we  have  said,  the  banks  of  the  river 
twist  in  such  quaint  fashion  that  the  scene  is 
altered  at  every  turn.  The  very  hills  would 
seem  to  change  places  one  with  another. 
They  might  well  be  playing  at  hide  and  seek, 
appearing  suddenly  and  vanishing  again 
before  the  eye.  At  another  time  the  scene 
gives  place  to  tiny  valleys,  filled  with  dimin- 
utive trees,  so  small  and  green  that  they 
look  like  tufts  of  moss  or  grass  in  the  land- 
scape. In  the  midst  of  this  the  thatched  roof 
of  a  farm  bobs  up  its  head,  and  seems  to 
ask  what  right  we  have  thus  to  disturb  its 

141 


Among  French  Inns 

sweet  tranquillity.  Everything  is  dressed  in 
rustic  charms,  that  wave  off  the  rude  comer 
from  this  quiet  life  and  bid  him  only  wel- 
come who  knows  and  loves  its  simple  tastes. 

Normandy  is  the  land  of  apples,  as  we 
have  observed  before,  if  we  are  not  mis- 
taken. There  are,  indeed,  few  places  in  this 
charming  country  where  the  truth  of  this 
saying  could  be  doubted.  Every  hillside 
and  valley  is  furnished  with  an  orchard  of 
apple-trees,  which,  by  some  mystic  arrange- 
ment with  Nature,  seem  always  to  be  young 
and  of  a  peculiarly  delicate  character.  We 
are  tempted  to  dwell  upon  these  orchards 
of  Normandy  with  more  than  a  passing 
word,  for  so  associated  are  they  with  its 
scenery  that  without  them  we  should  hardly 
recognize  the  country  as  itself. 

The  wine  of  the  country  being  cider,  we 
hear  a  typical  remark  on  the  deck  of  the 
steamer  as  we  wind  our  way  on  toward 
Rouen. 

''  Hola,  garqong!  Another  bottle  of  cider 
there!"  shouts  the  Englishman. 

"  Me,  also,"  says  the  count,  dreamily,  who 
is  dozing  on  the  deck  in  the  sun.  "  We  will 
drink  to  the  health  of  these  ladies.     Oh,  ces 


142 


Rouen 

dames!'*  And  the  gallant  Romeo  is  all 
aflame  at  the  thought. 

Still,  he  is  not  entirely  satisfied  with  the 
turn  that  affairs  seem  to  be  taking,  nor  with 
the  headway  he  has  been  making  of  late  in 
the  affections  of  the  fair  Miss  Gladys.  Some- 
how his  accident  at  the  tree  has  affected  him, 
and  then  that  unfortunate  mistake  of  the 
Englishman,  and  the  subsequent  incident  at 
the  hotel  at  Caudebec,  have  all  left  their 
impression  on  him.  But  was  it  entirely  a 
mistake  on  the  part  of  the  Englishman? 
Could  it  have  been  a  trick?  One  never 
knows  with  these  English.  And  at  times 
Pomponi  is  almost  inclined  to  think  that, 
after  all,  he  may  have  been  the  victim  of 
a  love  intrigue,  too  deep  and  villainous  even 
to  be  thought  of  without  a  shudder. 

The  morning  wore  on,  and  his  Excellency 
was  still  immersed  in  thought,  without  reach- 
ing any  very  satisfactory  conclusion.  That 
he  had  been  made  to  appear  ridiculous  he 
was  well  aware;  just  how  far  the  disad- 
vantage under  which  he  now  laboured  had 
been  allowed  to  go,  he  was  at  a  loss  to  decide. 
And  thus  Rouen  was  reached,  —  Rouen,  the 
grand  theatre  of  events,  the  centre  of  Norman 
power  and  greatness  in  the  past,  that  jewel- 

143 


Amo7tg  French  Inns 

box  in  which  lie  even  to-day  some  of  the 
rarest  gems  of  architecture  that  have  been 
preserved  from  mediaeval  France. 

On  landing  we  may  not  do  better  than  to 
quote  the  words  of  a  French  author,  who 
seems  to  have  duly  appreciated  the  impor- 
tance and  history  of  this  interesting  place. 
He  says: 

"  The  history  of  Normandy,  that  province 
which  has  been  the  mother  of  several  king- 
doms, is  not  less  interesting  or  worthy  of 
remembrance  than  that  of  the  greatest  em- 
pires. Its  capital,  Rouen,  the  witness  of  so 
many  important  events,  the  theatre  of  so  many 
celebrated  dramas  of  history,  the  cradle  of  a 
civilization  as  active  as  it  has  been  indus- 
trious, merits  above  all  others  to  be  the 
object  of  the  attention  and  study  of  those 
minds  which  are  stimulated  by  an  intelligent 
curiosity.'^  ^ 

Like  this  admirable  writer,  we,  too,  are 
stimulated  by  a  desire  to  know  something  of 
a  place  that  is  so  faden  with  the  picturesque 
memorials  of  history.  "  It  is  indeed  a  city  of 
traditions  and  souvenirs."  As  we  wander 
through  its  streets,  each  corner  seems  to  con- 

•  Translation  from  "La  Normandie  lUustree,"  page  6,  Vol.  I. 
Text  by  M.  Raymond  Bordeaux  and  Mile.  Amelie  Bosquet. 

144 


Rouen 

tain  some  new  trace  or  vestige  of  the  revo- 
lutions and  sieges  that  have  rent  the  city  in 
the  past.  Monuments  arise  out  of  the  dust 
of  ages  and  tell  us  stories  of  heroic  deeds. 
The  remembrance  of  yesterday,  the  business 
of  to-day,  seem  oddly  mingled  into  one  life, 
while  the  air  of  everything  betrays  the  pas- 
sage of  a  thousand  years. 

Churches,  towers,  chapels,  civic  buildings, 
follow  one  another  in  a  succession  of  archi- 
tectural performances  which  bear  testimony 
to  the  traditions  that  lie  buried  within  and 
around  them.  At  one  moment  the  eye  is 
caught  by  the  beauty  of  the  flamboyant 
Gothic  in  the  details  of  some  church  window, 
in  the  carving  of  a  flying  buttress,  or  in  the 
groining  of  some  vaulted  roof.  At  another, 
the  eye  is  distracted  from  these  objects,  and 
is  carried  away  by  the  historical  significance 
of  a  monument  or  tombstone,  that  bears  one 
back  to  the  middle  ages. 

The  impression  which  Rouen*  produces 
upon  the  visitor,  through  its  architectural 
side  alone,  in  such  that,  did  not  its  superior 
age  make  such  a  title  seem  inappropriate, 
we  should  at  once  describe  it  as  the  Oxford 
of  France.  Though  Oxford  is  more  correctly 
the  Rouen  of  England,  we  may  be  permitted 

145 


Among  French  Inns 

in  this  case  the  change.  Each  city  displays, 
in  its  limited  area  and  number  of  inhabit- 
ants, a  collection  of  historic  masterpieces  of 
architecture,  religious,  civic,  and  educational, 
which  are  unequalled  in  like  manner  by  any 
others  of  the  countries  in  which  they  exist. 
They  stand  like  rich  treasure-houses  of  stone 
made  sacred  by  time,  significance,  and  events, 
bringing  to  those  who  study  them  something 
of  the  higher  and  better  field  of  man's  accom- 
plishment. They  are,  indeed,  shrines  to 
which  the  devout  pilgrim  may  well  repair 
in  reverence  and  esteem. 

It  is  impossible  for  a  single  pen  to  convey 
an  adequate  idea  of  such  a  wealth-laden 
past  as  that  of  Rouen,  a  past  that  is  so  em- 
bodied in  these  impressive  witnesses  of  its 
history.  The  task  is  one  which  the  most 
accomplished  may  well  shrink  from  un- 
dertaking. Yet  it  would  tempt  even  the 
most  fleeting  worshipper  at  this  famous 
shrine  to  portray  something  of  its  wonders 
and  its  glory.  The  air  lifts  him  to  labours 
that  are  too  great  for  him  to  seriously  at- 
tempt, yet  hold  him  with  a  sense  of  willing- 
ness to  fail.  If  only  he  may  give  to  some 
one  a  single  feeling  of  the  many  that  pos- 
sess   his    soul    in    admiration,    he    may    rest 

146 


Rouen 

contented  with  his  task.  So  truly  would  the 
scene  impress  his  heart  with  wonder  and 
respect! 

It  would  be  useless  to  trace  the  steps  by 
which  the  primitive  name  of  Rothomagus 
ended  finally  in  that  of  Rouen.  Such  an 
occupation  belongs  rather  to  those  more 
skilled  in  etymology  than  ourselves.  As  far 
back  as  the  fourth  century  we  hear  of  this 
historic  city  of  Normandy.  As  early  as  the 
sixth  century  those  religious  and  artistic 
instincts,  which  at  all  times  have  moved  the 
people  of  Rouen,  made  themselves  felt,  and 
their  subsequent  results  have  been  the  monu- 
ments, or  their  successors,  which  are  to-day 
so  notable  and  so  remarkable.  By  the  time 
the  ninth  century  was  reached  it  had  already 
taken  an  important  place  among  the  cities 
of  France. 

The  feelings  of  religion  and  patriotism, 
which  in  other  parts  of  Normandy  are 
secondary  to  personal  interest,  seem  here  to 
have  been  above  all  others.  They  have  con- 
tinued to  the  present  day  in  the  characters  of 
the  inhabitants,  and  have  left  their  imprint 
upon  the  stages  of  the  city's  development 
and  life. 

"  It  is  sacred  gjound  that  we  tread,"  whis- 
M7 


Among  French  Inns 

pered  the  Frenchman,  as  they  passed  through 
the  narrow  streets,  darkened  with  the  tall 
gables  of  time-stained  houses. 

*'  It  is  the  city  of  La  Pucelle,"  said  the 
count,  as  the  thought  of  Jeanne  d'Arc  rose 
uppermost  in  his  mind.  ''  Ah,  here  is  the 
home  of  the  Normandy,  the  history  and  the 
art." 

"  Wonderful  place,"  added  the  English- 
man, laconically;  but  he  felt  deeply  the  ef- 
fect of  his  surroundings,  although,  as  usual, 
he  thought  more  than  he  expressed  in  words. 

"  I  really  do  not  know  what  hotel  James 
said  he  was  going  to,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton,  as 
the  party  proceeded  on  their  way  through 
the  city.  "  We  might  as  well  walk  about 
a  little  and  see  something  first,  and  then 
meet  at  the  Hotel  d'Angleterre.  If  he  is 
not  there,  the  servants  can  go  and  hunt  him 
up  at  one  of  the  other  hotels.  He  must 
have  arrived  yesterday;  if  he  has  not  taken 
it  into  his  head  to  go  to  Paris  and  attend  to 
something." 

So  saying,  the  party  wandered  on  through 
the  streets  of  Rouen,  enchanted  with  what 
they  saw  and  appreciative  of  the  mediaeval 
aspect  of  the  city.  It  may  have  been  the 
recognition  of  those  qualities  of  religion  and 

148 


Rouen 

patriotism,  to  which  we  have  already  al- 
luded, that  brought  in  early  days  such  men 
as  St.  Mellon,  St.  Ouen,  and  St.  Avitien  to 
Rouen,  to  preach  the  gospel  and  lay  the  first 
foundations  of  its  greatest  churches.  It  was 
doubtless  the  feeling  of  their  existence,  and 
the  trust  which  he  had  in  this  belief,  which 
brought  the  Conqueror  of  England  once  more 
to  his  deserted  capital  of  Normandy  to  die. 

So  constant  were  the  labours  which  these 
strong  instincts  of  the  people  of  Rouen  in- 
spired, that  as^  the  centuries  rolled  by,  the 
number  of  churches  in  the  city  increased  to 
an  extent  almost  unprecedented  in  history. 
During  the  seventeenth  century  there  were 
some  forty  of  them  in  all.  The  hand  of 
Time,  the  misfortunes  of  fate,  the  passions 
of  men,  were  alike  incapable  of  arresting 
their  growth.  In  spite  of  the  invasions, 
sieges,  wars,  through  which  the  city  suflPered 
pillage  and  desecration,  the  indomitable 
spirit  of  its  inhabitants  was  ever  uppermost. 
If  they  were  driven  from  their  houses,  or  if 
their  churches  were  destroyed,  their  first 
thought  on  regaining  possession  of  them  was 
to  rebuild  and  rebeautify  these  monuments. 

But  if  the  religious  edifices  of  Rouen  have 
so  notable  a  place  in  the  history  of  this  re- 

149 


Among  French  Inns 

markable  city,  what  shall  we  say  of  the 
others,  which  are  of  a  more  civic  or  secular 
character?  Truly  they  are  of  an  order  too 
high  to  be  lightly  passed  over.  For  the 
Palais  de  Justice,  with  its  beautiful  archi- 
tecture and  its  historic  significance;  the  Tour 
de  la  Grosse-Horloge,  with  its  arch  over  the 
street;  the  famous  Hotel  du  Bourgtheroulde, 
as  well  as  the  Fontaine  de  Jeanne  d'Arc,  in 
the  Place  de  la  Pucelle;  the  Maison  de  Diane 
de  Poitiers,  and  other  monuments,  we  have 
only  the  highest  admiration  and  praise.  They 
emphasize,  in  their  glories,  the  history  of 
Rouen  and  the  phases  of  its  past,  in  the  life 
of  France  and  Normandy.  They  delight  the 
eye  and  appeal  to  the  senses,  while  stimu- 
lating the  imagination  with  pictures  of  other 
centuries  and  the  persons  who  filled  them 
with  their  figures  and  actions.  They  are 
remarkable,  in  their  age  and  aspect,  as  well 
by  themselves  as  in  conjunction  with  the 
wonderful  collection  of  churches  which  rear 
their  ornamental  spires  above  the  city,  and 
mark  the  landscape  at  a  distant  view. 

The  first  in  importance  of  these  religious 
monuments  is  the  cathedral.  Let  us  view 
it  from  its  western  fagade.  In  1063  Maurile, 
Archbishop  of  Rouen,   completed   the  prin- 

150 


Rouen 

cipal  parts  of  this  great  work.  But  it  be- 
came almost  immediately  a  prey  to  one  of 
those  fires  which  have  done  much  to  impede 
the  construction  of  many  of  the  churches  of 
Rouen.  The  fagade,  though  otherwise  beau- 
tiful, is  to-day  blackened  and  charred  in  a 
manner  which  time  has  been  unable  to  efface 
or  even  partially  disguise. 

The  cathedral  is  remarkable  for  the  vari- 
ety of  its  architecture  and  for  the  extraor- 
dinary lack  of  symmetry  in  its  towers.  That 
on  the  right,  known  as  the  Tour  de  Beurre, 
is  the  most  beautiful,  and  is  a  fine  example 
of  the  Norman  period,  embellished  with 
Gothic  details.  The  spire  is  chiefly  interest- 
ing as  being  constructed  of  cast  iron  and 
having  a  height  of  465  feet.  It  was  built  in 
the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century  to  re- 
place a  former  one  that  had  been  burnt  as 
a  result  of  having  been  struck  by  lightning. 
The  Tour  de  Beurre  once  contained  one  of 
the  largest  bells  in  the  world,  which  was 
melted  during  the  Revolution,  and  from 
which  medals  were  struck  off  commemora- 
ting its  demolition.  Its  name  was  curiously 
derived  from  the  fact  of  its  having  been 
built  with  money  which  was  paid  by  persons 
for  indulgences  granted  them  to  eat  butter 

151 


Among  French  Inns 

during  Lent.  It  is  higher  and  more  imposing 
in  every  way  than  its  companion,  which, 
though  ornate  in  design,  is  entirely  different 
both  in  size  and  shape. 

The  carving  about  the  doors  of  the  cathe- 
dral is  some  of  the  most  elegant  work  of  its 
kind  to  be  found  in  Normandy.  It  is  lamen- 
table that  the  flames  should  have  impaired 
so  much  of  its  beauty.  A  curious  example 
of  the  disorder  which  is  frequently  to  be 
found  in  the  older  cities  of  Europe,  exists 
here,  where  a  small  dwelling-house  has  been 
built  directly  against  the  larger  tower  of  the 
cathedral.  Its  picturesque  appearance  serves 
partially  to  excuse  its  presence  there,  though 
it  is  with  something  of  a  shock  that  we  ob- 
serve it. 

The  most  beautiful  example  of  the  many 
beautiful  churches  of  Rouen  is  undoubtedly 
that  of  St.  Ouen.  Though  much  of  its  exte- 
rior is  comparatively  modern  through  restora- 
tion, it  is  one  of  the  most  perfect  and 
symmetrical  ecclesiastical  structures  in  ex- 
istence. The  exquisiteness  of  its  details,  the 
perfection  of  its  contour,  the  delicacy  and 
grace  of  its  towers,  make  it  a  religious  in- 
spiration, as  it  is  an  architectural  triumph. 
We   dare   not   trust  ourselves   to   enter,    lest 

152 


Rouen 

we  chronicle  at  too  great  length  the  admira- 
tion and  delight  of  the  band  of  pilgrims  who 
are  with  us.  We  must  leave  them,  with 
others,  to  wander  by  themselves  through  its 
noble  and  sanctified  interior,  and  find  those 
treasures  which  embellish  and  furnish  it 
with  significance. 

Next  to  the  wonderful  Church  of  St.  Ouen, 
which  might  well  have  been  a  cathedral 
had  it  been  placed  elsewhere,  stands,  in  its 
beauty  and  position  among  the  religious 
monuments  of  Rouen,  the  really  lovely 
Church  of  St.  Maclou.  It  is  one  of  the  most 
complete  specimens  in  existence  of  the  pris- 
matic architecture  of  the  fifteenth  century. 
After  having  been  destroyed  several  times, 
the  entire  church  was  rebuilt  in  1480  as  it 
now  stands.  Since  that  date  it  has  scarcely 
been  altered  in  any  of  its  details.  Apart 
from  being  the  most  beautiful  church  in 
Rouen,  after  that  of  St.  Ouen,  it  is  remark- 
able for  its  western  fagade.  This  has  been 
developed  in  the  form  of  an  immense  porch 
with  five  separate  arches  carved  and  deco- 
rated in  an  elaborate  and  intricate  manner. 

The  visit  of  the  party  to  St.  Maclou  was 
enlivened  by  the  conversation  of  a  pompous 
beadle   who   was    awaiting   their   arrival    at 

153 


Among  French  Inns 

the  door  of  the  church.  He  was  dressed  in  a 
superb  uniform  of  dark  blue  and  silver,  and 
wore  a  large  cocked  hat,  sidewise,  after  the 
manner  of  Napoleon  I. 

"But  why  blue  and  silver?  "  queried  the 
Englishman,  who  always  liked  to  know  the 
reason  for  things. 

The  Frenchman  was  unable  to  offer  any 
suitable  reason,  and  the  beadle  looked  so 
important  that  no  one  dared  to  interrogate 
him  on  this  point. 

*^  What  a  nice  way  to  dress  the  sexton  up," 
said  Mrs.  Wilton.  "  Oh,  how  I  wish  we 
could  do  that  with  our  sexton  in  New 
York!  I'm  sure  he  would  add  tremendously 
to  the  effect.  Gladys,  dear,  we  must  have 
one  at  the  little  church  in  Long  Island." 

"  But,  mamma  dear,  the  church  there  is 
Unitarian,  you  know,  and  they  never  would 
allow  such  a  looking  person  to  go  anywhere 
near  it." 

''  Oh  that  is  true,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton. 
"  Well,  we  might  have  one  at  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church  instead,  and  go  every  now 
and  then,  if  only  to  take  a  good  look  at  him. 
I'm  sure  that  nice  old  Irish  priest  would  love 
it  if  I  gave  him  one  for  his  church." 

As  she  spoke,  the  beadle  stepped  forward 
154 


Rouen 

and  asked  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  if  they 
would  like  to  see  the  inside  of  the  churchy 
and  the  invitation  was  promptly  accepted. 

"  He  seems  to  have  a  very  good  opinion 
of  himself,"  said  Miss  Wilton  to  the  French- 
man, as  the  beadle  went  flourishing  on  before 
them,  stamping  his  great  staff  on  the  re- 
sounding stones  of  the  church  floor,  and 
boasting  fearfully  of  his  discovery  of  the 
ancient  frescoes  behind  the  half-covered 
walls. 

"  Oh,  he  is  at  his  ease,  he  is  at  his  ease," 
replied  the  Frenchman,  repeating  his  assur- 
ance (which  every  one,  by  the  way,  was 
perfectly  aware  of  all  the  time).  "  He  is  at 
his  ease.  He  will  show  the  church  as  he 
wishes." 

"  My  dear  Gladys,  if  we  could  only  get 
him  to  Long  Island,  what  a  sensation  he 
would  make,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wilton,  who 
was  lost  in  admiration  of  this  clerical  Mal- 
volio,  who,  in  turn,  was  delighted  with  the 
effect  he  was  producing. 

"  Oh,  in  Italy  we  have  them  everywhere," 
exclaimed  Count  Romeo,  piqued  that  France 
should  receive  so  much  undue  attention. 
"And  in  St.  Peter's!  Oh,  madame,  you 
should   see   them.      On    the    Easter!     What 

155 


Among  French  Inns 

show,  what  magnification!  Oh,  madame, 
this  is  nothing  to  it!  "  And  the  count  waved 
his  hand  majestically  in  the  air  with  one 
of  his  sweeping  Italian  gestures. 

It  was  fortunate  that  the  Frenchman  was 
too  far  in  front  to  overhear  this  sally  on  the 
part  of  his  Excellency,  or  an  international 
argument  might  have  ensued.  He  was,  how- 
ever, too  much  occupied  in  drawing  Miss 
Wilton's  attention  to  the  fragments  of  fres- 
coes to  give  any  attention  to  conversation 
other  than  their  own. 

"  And  are  these  really  as  old  as  that? " 
said  Miss  Gladys,  as  the  Frenchman  pointed 
out  the  great  age  of  the  bits  of  painting  that 
still  remained  to  bear  witness  to  a  former 
work  of  art. 

"  They  undoubtedly  are,  and  were  some 
fine  examples  of  the  decorative  art  before 
they  were  ruthlessly  covered  over  by  an 
inferior  hand.  Ah,  madelVioiselle,  I  see 
you  have  the  feeling  for  art  which  we  all 
share  in  France.  You  should  really  live 
over  here,  where  you  can  breathe  it  and 
become  part  of  it.  How  you  would  grace 
a  salon  of  the  Faubourg  in  Paris  and  a 
chateau  in  the  country!" 

Miss  Wilton   almost  began   to   give   way 
156 


Rouen 

beneath  the  fire  of  the  Frenchman  and  the 
pictures  which  he  so  successfully  painted. 
She  became  infused  with  the  effect  of  such 
suggestions  and  the  charmed  atmosphere 
which  they  brought  with  them,  and  felt  her- 
self rapidly  falling  before  their  subtle  magic. 
Unfortunately  for  the  Frenchman's  inten- 
tions, Mrs.  Wilton  and  the  count  and  the 
Englishman  were  close  on  their  heels,  and 
now  joined  the  two,  and  the  party  moved 
toward  the  door  of  the  church. 

"  Give  him   a  five-franc  piece,  will  you, 

Monsieur  de  B ?"  said  Mrs.  Wilton,  in 

her  definite,  practical  way,  as  they  were 
being  bowed  out  by  the  portentous  beadle; 
and  the  coin  was  accordingly  proffered.  The 
beadle,  however,  was  far  too  much  of  a 
grand  seigneur  to  stoop  to  anything  so  menial 
as  a  tip,  and  waved  it  aside  contemptuously. 

"  Put  it  in  the  box  for  the  poor  of  the 
parish,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton,  a  little  taken 
aback;  and  the  party  wandered  off  to  visit 
the  Palais  de  Justice. 

The  walls  of  this  beautiful  and  famous 
building,  which  is  situated  in  the  Rue  Jeanne 
d'Arc,  arise  from  three  sides  of  a  broad 
paved  court.  The  structure  dates  back  as 
far  as  1499,  and  was  built  on  the  site  of  an 

157 


Among  French  Inns 

ancient  market-place  which,  still  earlier  in 
the  middle  ages,  was  used  as  a  pasture  for 
cattle.  To  those  who  look  at  the  delicate 
carving  of  the  fagade  to-day,  it  seems  diffi- 
cult to  believe  that  the  early  chapters  of  a 
city  so  famous  in  history,  and  so  laden  with 
monuments  and  glories,  should  have  been 
enacted  in  a  scene  as  primitive  as  a  village 
market  or  a  rural  pasture. 

The  Palais  de  Justice  was  built  origi- 
nally by  Louis  XII.,  who  left  so  many  monu- 
ments to  posterity.  During  the  fifteenth 
and  sixteenth  centuries  it  was  used  by  the 
Parliament  of  Normandy  as  its  place  of  meet- 
ing. Its  earlier  use  was  as  the  court  of  the 
Echiquier  de  Normandie,  which  possessed 
many  and  considerable  powers,  and  which 
was  accepted  by  Frangois  I.  as  a  parliament. 
The  beautiful-  architectural  details  extend 
from  the  fifteenth  to  the  nineteenth  centuries, 
and,  though  covering  so  great  a  period  of 
time,  are  in  perfect  harmony  of  design  and 
style.  The  symmetry  of  their  arrangement 
and  proportions,  the  grace  of  their  delicate 
Gothic  decorations,  lifting  their  needle-points 
above  the  high  roofs  on  three  sides  of  the 
court,  are  at  once  an  inspiration  and  glory 
to  behold. 

158 


Rouen 

The  Palais  de  Justice  of  Rouen  must 
always  be  a  perfect  example  of  this  type; 
a  shrine  for  the  lover  of  the  beautiful,  and 
appropriate  to  worship  at  and  to  offer  tribute, 
something  to  see  and  to  remember  in  after- 
years  when  far  from  these  scenes  and  sepa- 
rated from  their  elevating  atmosphere.  It  is 
lamentable  that  the  wonderful  remains  of 
mediaeval  Rouen,  which  in  the  smaller 
houses  so  lavishly  arrayed  the  streets  of  the 
city  not  long  since,  have  been  largely  done 
away  with  by  the  modern  improvements  of 
the  citizens.  Boulevards,  in  imitation  of 
Paris,  have  too  often  in  later  years  replaced 
the  quaint  streets  with  their  picturesque  and 
almost   sacred    architectural    possessions. 

In  spite  of  the  inroads  upon  this  portion  of 
Rouen,  there  yet  remain  many  quaint  cor- 
ners and  picturesque  groups  of  houses  that 
delight  the  eye  of  the  artist  and  in  which  the 
antiquarian  may  revel.  Beyond  the  Palais 
de  Justice,  in  the  Rue  Jeanne  d'Arc,  arises 
the  famous  Tour  de  la  Grosse-Horloge, 
which  is  said  to  have  been  built  in  1389.  It 
has  a  picturesque  arch  over  the  street,  on 
the  left  of  the  one  in  which  we  stand,  which 
dates  from  the  fourteenth  century.  The 
strangeness   of   its   position,    as   well   as   the 

159 


Among  French  Inns 

beautiful  decorations  upon  it,  make  it  un- 
usually interesting  to  look  upon. 

"What  a  place  for  the  clock  to  be  put!" 
exclaimed  the  count  in  wonder.  "  He  look 
as  if  he  would  lose  the  equilibrity  up  there  I " 

"  Count  di  Pomponi,  what  ar^  you  trying 
to  say?"  said  Mrs.  Wilton,  who  delighted  in 
the  gallant  Romeo's  strange  use  of  English. 
"  You  mean  its  equilibrium,  do  you  not? " 

"  I  said  *  the  equilibrity,' "  replied  his 
Excellency,  perfectly  contented  with  the 
word.  "  He  is  all  up  in  the  hair  there. 
Dieu,  que  c'est  drole!  ^^  And  he  began  to 
laugh  genially  and  waddle  around  under- 
neath it. 

"  Oh,  dear,  count,  you  never  will  learn  to 
speak  English,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton,  in  despair. 
"  You  must  say  ^  up  in  the  air/  Hair  is 
what  you  have  on  your  head." 

"  I  had  the  'air  on  the  'ead,"  sighed  Romeo, 
imperviously,  "  but  he  all  dropped  out  and 
so  now  I  wear  un  toupet.  But  do  not 
say,  madame,  oh,  do  not  say  it  to  your  daugh- 
ter! She  would  never  learn  to  loave  me  if 
you  should." 

Mrs.  Wilton  half-promised  not  to,  and  of 
course  did  tell  her  daughter  that  very  eve- 
ning,  and   forbade   her   ever   to   marry   the 

i6o 


Rouen 

Count  Romeo  di  Pomponi.  Her  daughter 
assured  her  that  she  never  would,  and  later 
kept  her  word,  without  breaking  her  heart. 

"  Really,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton,  "  if 
you  married  an  Italian  with  a  wig,  I  think 
your  father  would  be  almost  capable  of 
stopping  your  allowance." 

"  But,  mamma  dear,  nothing  would  tempt 
me  to  marry  Count  di  Pomponi.  I  like  him, 
and  think  him  very  amusing.  So  do  we  all. 
But  I  should  no  more  think  of  being  his 
wife  than  I  should  of  flying." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so, 
Gladys,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton.  "  I  want  you 
to  marry  well  and  be  happy,  dear,  and  be  a 
pride  to  your  father  and  mother.  You 
know  it  is  all  for  your  own  good  that  we  are 
so  much  concerned  about  your  future.  Do 
take  time  and  think  things  over  before  you 
ever  say  *  yes  '  to  any  man.  God  knows,  one 
may  regret  it  later  on,  and  it  pays  to  think 
twice,"  and  Mrs.  Wilton  thought  of  herself, 
and  of  some  of  her  friends,  perhaps,  who 
have  nothing  to  do  with  this  story. 

Beyond  the  Tour  de  la  Grosse-Horloge, 
near  the  street  of  the  same  name,  is  situated 
the  famous  Hotel  du  Bourgtheroulde,  which 
is  one  of  the  historical  monuments  of  Rouen. 

i6i 


Among  French  Inns 

It  dates  from  the  fifteenth  century,  and  was 
completed  by  Frangois  I.  Like  so  many 
buildings  of  its  kind,  it  is  built  around  a 
court.  Two  of  its  facades  are  rich  in  sculp- 
tures and  highly  ornamented  in  Renaissance 
and  Gothic  details.  There  is  a  tower  and 
staircase  in  one  corner,  beautifully  sculp- 
tured, as  are  the  two  windows  in  the  roof, 
alive  with  figures  and  emblems  of  their 
period. 

The  exterior,  however,  shows  the  result 
of  having  been  begun  by  one  man  of  genius 
and  completed  by  another,  and  its  interest 
architecturally  lies  more  in  the  beauty  and 
richness  of  its  details  than  in  the  symmetry 
of  its  ensemble.  It  is,  however,  a  notable 
figure  in  the  group  of  nionuments  that  stand 
out  above  many  others  of  rare  beauty  and 
distinction  in  Rouen,  and  that  give  to  it  the 
glorious  title  which  it  has  assumed  among 
the  cities  of  France,  as  a  treasure-house  of 
ornamented  stones. 

Who  shall  say  that  there  is  no  life  in 
brick  and  wood  and  stone,  after  living  for 
a  time  amongst  such  creations  as  we  have 
already  endeavoured  to  describe  in  passing? 
Or  who  shall  deny  the  grandeur  and  the 
charm  that  they  possess?     Did  not  Ruskin 

162 


Rouen 

find  in  Venice  something  more  than  mere  in- 
animate piles  of  hardened  substance  to  inspire 
his  soul  and  cause  his  inmost  being  to  respond 
and  speak?  Are  there  not  here  living  expres- 
sions of  man's  noblest  handiwork,  fashioned 
out  of  the  dust  of  ages,  as  God  created  man 
himself,  and  breathing  life  and  its  experi- 
ences to  those  who  see  them? 

We  must  needs  bow  in  homage,  and  exhort 
our  workers  in  a  newer  land  to  stir  them- 
selves still  further  in  their  efforts  to  produce 
something  approaching  these  old-world 
beauties,  in  their  artistic  conceptions.  Nature 
does  her  utmost,  and  produces  but  unseemly 
substances  below  the  earth.  Then  comes 
man,  the  most  glorious  creation  of  his  Maker, 
and  here  and  there  a  genius  touches  with  his 
magic  wand  some  spot  upon  the  earth,  and 
there  arises  something  that  is  beautiful,  and 
lives,  to  lend  its  inspiring  presence  to  the 
centuries  through  which  it  remains.  One 
may  well  bow  to  these  venerable  marks,  and 
tend  them  with  assidous  care,  lest  they  fall 
and  be  no  more. 

That  something  of  these  sentiments  was 
shared  in  the  thoughts  of  our  friends  on  that 
memorable  day  at  Rouen,  we  may  not  utterly 
deny.     They   were    impressed,    each   in   his 

163 


Among  French  Inns 

or  her  own  way,  with  the  significance  of 
what  they  saw,  and  though  they  may  have 
been  in  some  sense  light  and  frivolous  in 
their  conception  of  life,  they  were,  neverthe- 
less, prone  to  appreciate  the  value  of  the 
truest  things  that  are  found  worthy  to  be 
valued. 

By  the  time  they  had  completed  their 
inspection  of  the  Hotel  du  Bourgtheroulde 
they  were  ready  to  go  to  the  Hotel  d'Angle- 
terre,  in  search  of  Mr.  Wilton.  No  word 
had  been  heard  from  him,  and  every  one 
had  been  so  occupied  in  seeing  the  sights 
of  Rouen  that  the  day  had  passed  by,  and  it 
was  now  late  in  the  afternoon. 

On  arriving  at  the  Hotel  d'Angleterre,  they 
found  him  waiting,  and  peacefully  reading 
his  letters,  which  had  been  forwarded  from 
Paris. 

"  Well,  I  thought  you  were  all  lost,"  said 
he,  as  he  shook  hands  with  every  one,  his 
cigar  in  his  mouth,  while  he  held  a  pile  of 
correspondence  in  his  left  hand.  "  I  got 
your  telegram  from  Caudebec,  but  as  I 
had  no  idea  where  you  had  gone  when  you 
left  there,  I  came  on  here  and  settled  down 
to  wait.  This  is  quite  a  hotel,  but  so  noisy 
after  the  jolly  little  inn  at  Fecamp,  that  I 

164 


Rouen 

moved  over  to  the  Hotel  du  Nord.  I 
couldn't  sleep  a  wink  last  night.  There 
seemed  to  be  something  going  on  every 
minute,"  and  Mr.  Wilton  took  his  cigar  out 
of  his  mouth  and  sat  down. 

"  I  told  them  to  reserve  some  rooms  in  case 
you  all  turned  up,  and  I  think  you  will  like 
them.  The  hotel  is  close  to  the  big  clock- 
tower,  so  you  might  just  as  well  get  into  cabs 
and  go  right  back  from  where  you  started. 
How's  the  count?  Had  an  accident?  Well, 
well,  I  declare!  I  hope  no  bones  are  broken." 
And  then  Mr.  Wilton  was  told  of  the  unfor- 
tunate incident  at  Caudebec,  and  laughed 
heartily  and  enjoyed  the  joke  hugely. 

He  poked  fun  at  the  crestfallen  Romeo 
until  that  worthy  gentleman  was  entirely 
crushed  by  the  onslaught,  and  had  no  words 
left  for  repartee.  Mr.  Wilton  was  always 
breezy,  blustering,  and  businesslike,  and 
never  left  one  a  leg  to  stand  upon  when 
he  once  set  out  to  have  his  joke  —  with  the 
possible  exception  of  his  better  half,  before 
whose  commanding  brain  even  he  was  at 
times  forced  to  bow  in  submission. 

The  party  found  the  Hotel  du  Nord  very 
comfortable  indeed,  and  not  at  all  expensive, 
which  latter  quality  was  highly  appreciated 

165 


Among  French  Inns 

by  the  European  members  of  the  party.  The 
count  and  the  Frenchman,  especially,  were 
averse  to  throwing  away  their  money  in  what 
they  termed  unwise  expenditure,  and  were 
always  pleased  when  the  prices  were  low 
and  the  accommodations  comfortable. 

The  count  had  a  servant  rejoicing  in  the 
name  of  Dante  Galante,  who  ministered  to 
his  many  wants  and  kept  a  sharp  lookout 
on  his  innumerable  pieces  of  luggage,  which 
were  almost  as  curious-looking  as  their 
master.  Mr.  Wilton,  who  could  not  pro- 
nounce either  French  or  Italian  names,  in- 
sisted upon  calling  the  count's  valet  "  the 
gallant  Dante,"  which  greatly  disconcerted 
the  latter. 

"  What  have  you  done  with  Dante  Ga- 
lante?" queried  his  Excellency,  on  arriving 
at  the  Hotel  du  Nord. 

"  Oh,  I  told  him  he  could  go  out  and  see 
the  town,"  said  Mr.  Wilton.  "  I  knew  you 
would  be  too  busy  beauing  the  ladies  to 
need  him."  But  luckily,  Dante  Galante 
came  in  sight  at  that  moment,  and  the  count 
retired  to  have  his  ankle  rubbed  with  oil,  for 
the  fatigues  of  the  day  had  made  his  Excel- 
lency's foot  very  lame. 

The  following  day  our  friends  made  a 
i66 


Rouen 

visit  to  the  Church  of  St.  Gervais,  which  is 
situated  in  the  western  corner  of  the  city, 
for  it  is  here  that  the  remains  of  St.  Mellon, 
the  first  and  perhaps  the  most  famous  bishop 
of  Rouen,  were  buried.  A  priory  adjoins  the 
church,  which  possesses  a  historical  sig- 
nificance second  to  no  spot  in  Rouen,  for  it 
was  here  that  the  Conqueror  of  England 
breathed  his  last. 

To  those  who  stand  in  the  sanctified  atmos- 
phere of  the  priory,  it  seems  difficult  to  be- 
lieve that  it  was  the  final  scene  of  the  last 
act  of  a  drama  so  portentous  in  its  effect  upon 
history  as  the  life  of  William  the  Conqueror, 
or  that  nearly  a  thousand  years  have  passed 
by  since  these  walls  enclosed  the  dying  form 
of  this  remarkable  king.  Pregnant  with  sig- 
nificance is  the  spot,  and  many  the  reflections 
which  force  themselves  upon  the  pilgrim  at 
this  shrine  of  past  suffering  and  detachment 
of  a  repentant  soul  from  its  earthly  habita- 
tion. There  is  something  awe-inspiring  in 
the  feeling  that  we  tread  the  very  stones 
where  the  Conqueror  lay  in  deathly  stillness, 
when  the  last  battle  had  been  fought,  and  he 
the  victim  of  the  strife. 

It  was  to  this  place  that  he  was  removed 
from  the   palace  during  his   last  illness,   in 

167 


Among  French  Inns 

order  that  he  might  be  quieter  during  his 
fast  numbering  days.  Here  he  repented  him 
of  his  sins,  and  made  his  final  ofiferings  to 
God,  and  sought  forgiveness  from  his  Maker. 
William  Rufus  bade  him  good-bye,  and 
repaired,  at  his  command,  to  England,  to 
assume  his  duties  there.  Filled  with  a 
desire  to  die  at  peace  with  God  and  man,  the 
Conqueror,  whose  life  had  been  spent  in 
war  and  ravage,  fraught  with  the  passion 
of  conquest  and  ruthless  power,  decided  to 
leave  his  private  treasures  to  the  Church; 
and  in  this  chamber  his  last  will  was  drawn 
up  and  executed. 

We  may  pass  over  the  revolting  scenes 
which  followed  the  demise  of  this  great 
heroic  figure  in  early  mediaeval  history, 
whose  influence  upon  the  centuries  has  been 
so  powerful  and  lasting.  The  plunder  and 
desertion  of  his  body  by  his  attendants  has 
been  recorded  by  historians,  and  his  burial 
at  Caen  has  been  described  in  all  its  horrible 
details.  We  must  allow  the  curtain  to  fall 
at  this  spot,  made  sacred  as  the  place  where 
his  soul  was  turned  from  earthly  to  celestial 
desires,  and  where  the  better  thoughts  of  his 
life  found  utterance  and  effect.  As  he  passed, 
history  lost  one  of  its  most  remarkable  figures. 

1 68 


Rouen 

There  is  no  place  more  appropriate  upon 
which  to  take  leave  of  Rouen  than  this,  the 
scene  of  the  last  earthly  acts  of  William  the 
Conqueror,  Duke  of  Normandy  and  King 
of  England. 


169 


CHAPTER    VI 

AMONG  THE  INNS  OF  BRITTANY 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  the  Englishman  to 
Mrs.  Wilton,  "  I  feel  as  if  I  should  like  to 
make  a  visit  to  Brittany,  and  I  think  I  shall 
go  at  once,  and  leave  you  for  a  few  days,  or 
a  week,  and  meet  you  again,  here  or  else- 
where." 

"  Do  not  go  alone.  We  will  all  come 
also,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton,  with  that  quick 
decision  which  was  so  a  part  of  her  nature. 
As  they  were  speaking,  Count  Romeo  ap- 
peared in  the  hall  of  the  hotel,  fresh  from 
the  attentive  hands  of  Dante  Galante,  and 
thought  he  would  like  to  go  to  Brittany 
exceedingly.  Little  by  little  the  party  assem- 
bled, and  each  in  turn  obeyed  the  dictum  of 
that  most  capable  of  women,  Mrs.  Blodget 
Wilton. 

To  Brittany  we  were  then  definitely  going; 
but  how,  when,  and  to  what  portion  of  this 
interesting    province?      The    distance    from 

170 


Among  the  Inns  of  Brittany 

Rouen  being  great,  it  would  necessitate  a' 
long  journey  in  the  automobiles,  and  arrange- 
ments would  have  to  be  made  in  advance. 
But  the  difficulty  was  that  none  of  the  party 
had  ever  been  in  Brittany,  and  no  one,  there- 
fore, knew  anything  about  it.  What,  then, 
should  be  done?  Inquiries  of  our  host 
brought  forth  no  very  definite  information, 
and  we  finally  decided  to  risk  inconvenience 
and  to  start,  with  no  one  but  the  chauffeurs 
to  direct  us.  When  we  were  tired  we  would 
stop  at  the  first  town  we  came  to  and  put  up 
with  the  best  accommodations  we  could 
find. 

"  It's  a  crazy  undertaking,  I  think,"  said 
Mr.  Wilton.  "  I'll  just  buy  a  Baedeker  and 
bring  it  along  with  me  in  case  of  need,  for  it 
has  maps  in  it,  and  gives  the  names  of  the 
hotels. 

"  That's  a  good  idea,"  said  his  wife.  "  I'll 
take  my  guide-book,  too,  so  we  shall  have 
something  to  refer  to."  With  this  the  whole 
party  proceeded  to  bundle  into  the  auto- 
mobiles, and  set  out  from  Rouen. 

"  The  best  thing  we  can  do  is  to  go 
straight  to  the  Mont  St.  Michel,"  said  Mr. 
Wilton,  who  had  been  studying  his  Baedeker. 
"  It  is  just  between  Normandy  and  Brittany, 

171 


Among  French  Inns 

and  we  can  stop  there  and  then  decide  where 
we  want  to  go  to." 

"  I  think  it  is  a  good  idea,"  said  the  Eng- 
lishman. And  so  we  proceeded  to  the  famous 
Mont  St.  Michel,  by  way  of  Elbeuf,  Bernay, 
Lisieux,  Caen,  St.  Lo,  and  Coutances,  to 
Avranches,  which  is  at  the  southeastern  cor- 
ner of  Normandy.  St.  Lo  is  the  capital  of  the 
Departement  de  La  Manche,  and  is  a  pictur- 
esque little  town.  The  church  known  as  the 
cathedral  of  St.  Lo  is  a  superb  religious 
monument,  and  is  chiefly  of  the  fifteenth  and 
sixteenth  centuries.  Its  most  remarkable 
features  are  its  towers  and  spires,  and  its 
exterior  pulpit,  which  has  attracted  artists 
and  painters  at  all  times. 

Southwest  of  St.  Lo  is  Coutances,  where 
our  party  spent  a  night  at  the  Hotel  d'Angle- 
terre,  which  is  very  good.  The  view  of  Cou- 
tances from  the  railway  is  distinctly  impos- 
ing, the  apple-orchard  in  the  foreground,  the 
thick  lines  of  trees  beyond,  and  the  lofty 
towers  of  its  cathedral  and  church  rising 
from  the  picturesque  houses  of  the  town  itself. 
The  episcopal  palace,  with  its  terrace  and 
row  of  orange-trees,  rises  boldly  to  the  right 
of  the  picture.  The  more  distant  view  of 
Coutances,    however,    is    the    most    artistic. 

172 


Among  the  Inns  of  Brittany 

Here,  from  one  of  the  hills  beyond  the  town, 
the  beautiful  proportions  of  the  Norman 
architecture,  which  characterizes  the  Cathe- 
dral de  Notre  .  Dame  de  Coutances,  are 
visible.  Nearer  they  are  half-hidden  by  the 
bishop's  palace.  The  gray  town,  the  plum° 
coloured  tiles  to  the  roofs,  the  green-clad 
ramparts,  all  lend  their  charm  to  the  scene. 
The  cathedral  dates  from  the  thirteenth 
century,  and  followed  an  earlier  church  of 
the  eleventh,  whose  remains  are  still  in 
existence. 

It  was  with  regret  that  we  left  Coutances, 
which  is  a  characteristic  town  of  Western 
Normandy,  and  took  the  road  which  leads 
to  Avranches. 

"  The  churches  are  certainly  superb,"  said 
the  Englishman,  who  was  rarely  enthusiastic 
over  anything.  "  It  is  very  remarkable  to 
find  such  a  wealth  of  church  architecture 
in  these  small  towns  of  Normandy." 

"  It  makes  them  appear  in  stronger  con- 
trast," said  Mrs.  Wilton,  who  had  studied 
up  her  cathedrals  and  really  knew  a  good 
deal  about  ecclesiastical  architecture. 

Our  road  led  through  Folligny  and  La 
Haye-Pesnel,  which  are  near  together  and 
south   of   Coutances.     A   little   southeast   of 

173 


Among  French  Inns 

these  lies  Avranches,  with  its  wonderful  view 
of  the  Mont  St.  Michel,  and  the  expanse  of 
flats  that  are  left  bare  by  the  receding  tides 
of  the  Channel.  The  view  from  Avranches 
is  unique  in  its  extent.  In  the  centre  of  it 
arises  the  wonderful  island  abbey,  surmount- 
ing the  rock  on  which  it  stands,  while  in 
the  distance  we  may  observe  the  coast  of 
Brittany.  We  arrived  at  Avranches  in  the 
afternoon,  and,  as  we  stood  upon  the  terrace 
of  its  gardens,  the  effect  of  sunset  over  these 
wonderful  sands  which  separate  Normandy 
from  Brittany  was  something  to  be  remem- 
bered, but  not  easily  to  be  described.  For 
who  shall  say,  in  truth,  what  depths  of  mean- 
ing lies  in  the  art  with  which  the  Almighty 
has  enveloped  the  sinking  of  the  sun  to  rest? 
Behind  it  arises  an  aftermath  of  reflection 
which  covers 

"  Earth  and  air. 
Land  and  sea,'*' 

and  lights  everything  with  a  myriad  of  hues, 
and  covers  life  with  a  golden  tinge  of  colour, 
resembling  at  times  the  depicted  glories  of 
paradise. 

If  what  has  once  been  said  is  true,  that 
"  art  is  nature  seen  through  a  man's  soul,"  ^ 

"  Wordsworth.     "  Ode  on  Immortality."         *  Ruskin. 


\ 


Among  the  Inns  of  Brittany 

then  truly  the  highest  art  of  Claude  and 
Turner  was  in  their  matchless  impressions 
of  the  effect  of  sunsets.  They  endeavoured 
to  depict  the  deep,  unfathomable  beams 
which  radiate  from  the  sun,  and  expand  in 
glory  as  they  cover  the  scene.  How  well 
they  succeeded  time  has  amply  proved. 
When  we  see  the  wealth  of  colour  which  such 
men  as  these  employed  to  convey  what  they 
observed,  we  may  begin  to  realize  the  deep 
feeling  and  the  sense  of  art  that  rests  within 
a  beautiful  sunset. 

But  how  these  moods  of  the  atmosphere 
vary!  Now  all  is  dark,  melancholy,  and 
filled  with  the  stern  sadness  of  life.  Steel 
gray  clouds  fill  the  heavens  and  cover  the 
earth  with  a  canopy  of  leaden  gloom.  They 
tell  of  the  sorrows,  the  tragedies. of  mankind, 
and  speak  to  us  in  a  minor  key.  Suddenly 
a  light  bursts  through  the  threatening  passion 
of  the  heavens.  A  deep  red  streak  pierces 
through  the  gray,  and  gradually  the  whole 
sky  is  softened  into  rose-coloured  shades  and 
tones  that  spread  their  sense  of  beauty, 
tranquillity,  and  peace  after  the  storm. 
From  lavender  to  purple,  and  from  gray  to 
blue,  the  reflection  of  the  orb,  now  sinking 
in  majesty  beneath  the  horizon,  is  varied  in 

175 


Among  French  Inns 

a  multitude  of  shades,  and  gives  to  those 
who  view  it  all  the  splendour  of  God  as  well 
as  the  supreme  art  of  nature  itself. 

Over  artists  who  feel  something  divine  in 
form  and  colour,  the  magnificence  of  a 
beautiful  sunset  has  a  hypnotic  influence, 
and  causes  them  to  create  and  do  things 
which  otherwise  they  would  not.  Here  in 
France  we  have  seen  what  they  could  pro- 
duce, and  as  the  sun  sinks  down  in  the 
distance  behind  the  Mont  St.  Michel,  we 
ourselves  are  moved  to  feel  something  of 
what  others  have  experienced.  To  the  crea- 
tor of  imaginative  work,  the  beauty  and 
grandeur  of  a  real  sunset  over  the  sands  that 
cover  the  spaces  about  Avranches,  that  sepa- 
rate the  Norman  from  the  Breton  coast, 
must  always  appeal.  To  the  poet,  they 
should  be  an  inspiration  for  verses  and 
thoughts  before  unwritten;  to  the  artist  they 
should  act  as  a  study  for  some  beautiful 
picture. 

As  we  turned  from  the  gardens  at 
Avranches  to  enter  our  hotel,  we  were  filled 
with  the  sense  of  beauty  and  art  that  there  is 
everywhere  in  France.  The  Hotel  d'Angle- 
terre  is  a  pleasant  place  to  remain  in.  It 
is   frequented  by  English,  who   come   there 

176 


Among  the  Inns  of  Brittany 

for  the  summer.  Its  iahle  d'hote  is  typical 
of  Normandy,  and  is  usually  patronized  by 
some  agreeable  people. 

The  Englishman  was  naturally  pleased 
with  Avranches,  and  it  was  with  difficulty 
that  he  could  be  dragged  away  from  the 
hotel  the  following  day  to  visit  the  Mont  St. 
Michel  with  its  famous  inn,  known  the 
world  over  as  the  Hotel  Poulard.  It  is  a 
pleasant  ride  from  Avranches,  descending 
the  height  upon  which  the  town  is  situated. 
We  pass  the  remains  of  the  cathedral,  which 
collapsed  in  1790,  and  follow  the  line  of  the 
bay  to  the  causeway  which  has  been  built 
from  the  mainland  to  the  Mont  St.  Michel. 

The  island  rock  rises  out  of  the  sandy 
flats,  now  left  bare  by  the  low  tide,  which 
stretch  for  miles  around,  tempting  the  ven- 
turesome fishermen  to  dangerous  distances, 
and  the  washerwomen  who  perform  their 
duties  in  the  streams  or  pools  that  are  near 
at  hand.  Woe  to  those  who  stray  too  far 
afield,  for  suddenly  the  sound  of  rushing 
waters  is  heard,  in  the  distance  and  dimly 
at  first,  then  near  at  hand.  A  mighty  wave 
is  seen  upon  the  horizon,  dashing  forward 
like  a  flood,  at  the  rate  of  a  galloping  horse, 
and  swallowing  everything  in  its  path.     As 

177 


Among  French  Inns 

if  by  magic  the  whole  expanse  of  desert  sand 
and  waste  is  covered  by  the  sea,  and  Mont 
St.  Michel  is  once  more  girdled  by  the  waves. 

Such  is  the  extraordinary  geographical 
characteristic  of  this  island  mount,  whose 
fame  has  spread  abroad  through  the  centuries 
that  have  beheld  the  abbey  which  still  crowns 
its  summit.  The  hand  of  man  has  performed 
a  feat  in  building  upon  and  fortifying  this 
island  home  of  religious  exiles  from  the 
mainland.  The  high  walls  rise  in  irregular 
and  mediaeval  sternness  from  the  water's 
edge,  and  have  protected  it  from  foes  since 
they  were  built  at  a  remote  period. 

The  Hotel  Poulard,  with  its  delightful  and 
efficient  hostess,  is  one  of  the  most  original 
and  attractive  inns  in  France.  Here  we  all, 
to  use  the  French  phrase,  descended,  or  rather 
ascended  the  steep  and  tortuous  street  which 
winds  its  narrow  way  up  the  side  of  the  rock. 
The  street  is  so  narrow  that  one  is  obliged 
to  walk,  and  the  houses  appear  almost  to  be 
hanging  in  mid-air.  On  the  left  is  the  en- 
trance to  the  Hotel  Poulard  Aine. 

In  spite  of  the  crowds  that  fill  this  interest- 
ing inn  in  summer,  the  table  and  wines  are 
excellent,  and  the  poulet  is  deservedly  famous 
throughout  this  region.    We  dine  upon  a  ter- 

178 


Among  the  Inns  of  Brittany 

race,  if  so  inclined,  with  the  view  of  the  bay, 
and  the  stars  twinkling  above  us,  and  the 
efifect  is  very  much  like  that  of  some  stage. 
Only  it  is  the  stage  of  life,  and  the  actors 
are  real,  instead  of  impersonations  by  others. 

The  two  dependances  of  the  hotel  are 
reached  by  stone  steps  hewn  out  of  the  rock, 
and  enclose  the  overflow  of  guests  from  the 
hotel  itself.  Summer-houses  and  overhanging 
flowers  and  plants  overlook  the  terrace  and 
make  the  place  attractive  in  the  extreme. 
Madame  Poulard  herself  is  the  spirit  and 
life  of  the  hotel,  and  has  made  it  the  centre 
which  it  is. 

"  I  declare,  this  is  a  curious  place,"  said 
Mrs.  Wilton. 

"  It  is  like  the  streets  in  the  Naples,"  said 
Pomponi,  the  scene  reminding  him  of  his 
native  city. 

"  We  must  mount  the  rock  and  see  the 
abbey  above  by  moonlight,"  said  the  French- 
man, and  the  whole  party  climbed  the  steep 
footway  leading  to  the  top,  where  the  en- 
trance to  this  half-ruined  monastery  of  other 
centuries  is  reached. 

The  original  name  of  Mont  St.  Michel 
was  Mons  Tomba,  on  account  of  its  early 
usage    as    a    tomb.      It    was    in    the    eighth 

179 


Among  French  Inns 

century  that  St.  Michel  founded  the  Abbey 
of  Aubert,  which  was  increased  and  beauti- 
fied by  succeeding  Dukes  of  Normandy 
until  it  became  an  important  sanctuary,  lift- 
ing its  beautiful  Gothic  pinnacles  above  the 
rock  and  marking  their  outlines  against  the 
sky.  William  the  Conqueror,  on  his  return 
from  the  Conquest,  took  special  pains  to 
enrich  and  add  to  the  Abbey  of  Mont  St. 
Michel,  and  to  him  was  due  much  of  its 
grandeur  and  importance. 

Pilgrims  have  dutifully  climbed  the  rock- 
bound  steps  that  lead  to  the  sacred  spot  for 
many  hundred  years,  and  there  the  monks 
collected  the  wonderful  manuscripts  which 
gave  it  the  name  "  La  Cite  des  Livres." 
In  the  thirteenth  century  the  Mont  was  be- 
sieged by  Philippe-Auguste  during  his  war 
against  King  John  of  England,  and  most 
of  its  abbey  was  destroyed  by  fire,  but  later 
restored  by  the  very  monarch  who  consigned 
it  to  the  flames.  It  was  again  attacked,  this 
time  by  the  English,  during  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury. During  the  same  period  of  its  his- 
tory the  Order  of  St.  Michel  was  founded 
and  held  its  first  chapter  under  Louis  XL, 
and  here  the  original  knights  assembled  to 
receive   the  emblems   of   their  ofllice.     It  is 

i8o 


Among  the  Inns  of  Brittany 

difficult  to  picture  a  more  romantic  setting 
to  so  interesting  a  scene. 

Our  party  spent  two  days  wandering 
through  the  dungeons  beneath  the  abbey, 
leading  down  to  subterranean  depths  through 
the  solid  rock,  now  enclosing  only  such  tem- 
porary prisoners  as  artists  seeking  the  advan- 
tage of  the  stray  beams  of  light  that  wander 
through  the  iron  gratings,  which  once  en- 
closed those  who  were  condemned  to  solitude 
or  death.  We  might  allow  ourselves  to  linger 
here  indefinitely,  and  describe  at  length  the 
interesting  history  which  clusters  about  this 
romantic  and  artistic  spot,  were  we  not  ac- 
companied by  others  more  energetic  than 
ourselves,  with  automobiles  awaiting  our 
coming  at  the  foot  of  the  Mont  St.  Michel. 
Still,  we  must  leave  it  with  regret,  and 
remember,  with  its  many  attractions,  the 
hospitality  of  the  Hotel  Poulard. 

To  the  westward,  on  the  coast  of  Brittany, 
is  the  little  seacoast  town  of  St.  Malo, 
whence  steamers  ply  their  way  to  Dinard,  a 
fashionable  little  resort  much  frequented  by 
French,  Americans,  and  English.  The  one 
is  directly  across  the  bay  from  the  other,  but 
St.  Malo  is  much  the  more  interesting  of  the 
two  historically.     It  is  one  of  the  doorway? 

i8i 


Among  French  Inns 

to  Brittany,  and  possessed  of  much  that  is 
attractive  to  the  traveller.  It  was  not  a 
great  distance  from  Mont  St.  Michel  for 
the  automobiles  to  cover,  and  we  arrived  at 
the  Hotel  de  TUnivers,  St.  Malo,  between 
dejeuner  and  dinner.  The  town  is  situated 
upon  a  promontory  of  rock  that  gives  it  a 
picturesque  quality  which  the  seacoast  towns 
of  Brittany  possess  more  often  than  those  of 
Normandy. 

The  rock  upon  which  St.  Malo  stands  be- 
came an  island  during  the  eighteenth  century 
by  the  receding  of  the  land  and  the  overflow 
of  the  sea.  It  is  now,  like  Mont  St.  Michel, 
united  to  the  mainland  by  a  causeway  or 
road,  built  for  the  convenience  of  its  inhabit- 
ants. It  stands,  in  bold  and  bluff  relief, 
above  the  blue  waters  of  the  ocean,  and  is  a 
suitable  associate  for  the  island  mount  arising 
in  the  distant  view. 

On  one  side  of  the  causeway,  or  sillon  as  it 
is  called,  is  the  harbour,  which  is  left  dry 
at  low  tide.  On  the  other  are  outlying 
islands  and  forts  which  have  been  charmingly 
described  by  Chateaubriand  and  others  who 
were  natives  of  St.  Malo.  The  former,  how- 
ever, was  perhaps  her  most  distinguished 
son.     Born  in  the  house  which  is  now  the 

182 


Among  the  Inns  of  Brittany 

Hotel  de  France,  he  delighted  in  the  solitude 
which  he  sought  in  this  island  home,  and  he 
has  written  of  it  with  all  the  fervent  depth 
of  his  nature.  On  the  island  known  as  La 
Grande  Be,  he  appropriately  but  unknow- 
ingly, as  he  tells  us,  chose  his  final  resting- 
place.  For  in  the  Breton  language  Be 
signifies  a  tomb.  And  there  to-day  a  granite 
cross  marks  his  sepulchre.  The  loneliness 
of  the  spot  is  in  keeping  with  the  desire  of  his 
heart. 

Chateaubriand  loved  St.  Malo  with  its 
sea-girt  crags  and  rocks,  and  from  its  smiling 
countenance  in  summer,  as  from  its  tempests 
in  winter,  he  drew  inspiration,  and  with  them 
fed  the  cravings  of  his  genius.  Among 
them  he  found  repose  and  calm  for  his 
care-burdened  soul,  and  in  them  he  desired 
that  his  bones  should  be  buried.  They  lie 
upon  the  deserted  but  lovely  island  that  is 
covered  by  wild  flowers,  that  alone  keep 
guard  around  the  grave  of  one  of  the  im- 
mortals. 

La  Bourdonnais,  Maupertuis,  and  Brous- 
sais,  were  all  born  at  St.  Malo,  and  have 
contributed  to  its  renown.  Its  history  has 
been  one  of  hardihood  and  tenacity  on  the 
part  of  its  people,  and  its  two  most  distin- 

183 


Among  French  Inns 

guished  sons,  Lamennais  and  Chateaubriand, 
have  immortalized  it  in  the  minds  of  men. 
Such  is  a  passing  glimpse  of  St.  Malo;  nor 
should  we  omit  to  mention,  before  we  leave 
it,  the  chateau,  built  in  the  period  of  Fran- 
9ois  II.,  rising  upon  the  rocks  which  lift  it 
above  the  hungry  waves,  that  would  seem  to 
devour  everything  within  their  reach,  as  they 
did  the  land  about  the  very  town  itself. 

On  leaving  St.  Malo  we  returned  a  little 
upon  our  journey  to  visit  the  picturesque  old 
town  of  Dol,  separated  from  the  coast  by 
a  plain  known  as  the  Marais  de  Dol.  This 
great  marsh,  for  it  was  little  else,  has  been 
reclaimed  from  the  sea  like  the  land  about 
Dives,  and  is  protected  from  the  incursions 
of  the  sea  itself  by  a  huge  dike  fully  twenty- 
five  miles  in  length.  It  is  extremely  interest- 
ing as  a  triumph  of  man  in  the  early  ages,  — 
for  the  dike  was  begun,  it  is  said,  during 
the  eleventh  century,  —  and  the  plain  con- 
tains many  fossils  that  are  archaeologically 
interesting. 

Dol  has  little  human  interest  or  animation. 
Its  houses,  however,  are  particularly  pictur- 
esque, with  high  tiled  roofs  and  overhanging 
eaves,  and  porticoes  in  the  lower  stories. 
There   was   originally    a    cathedral    at   Dol, 

184 


Among  the  Inns  of  Brittany 

which  is  now  reduced  to  the  rank  of  a  church. 
It  was  made  a  see  in  the  middle  of  the  ninth 
century  by  one  of  the  ancient  Breton  kings. 

The  character  of  Brittany  and  its  people 
is  distinctive  and  interesting  to  study.  It  is 
the  Wales  of  France  and  the  Bretons  are  the 
Celts  of  the  French  nation.  Their  language, 
their  race,  their  character,  all  bear  traces  of 
resemblance,  as  well  as  their  geographical 
position.  We  find  in  them  the  same  hardi- 
hood and  simplicity  of  life,  about  their  homes 
the  same  rocky  coast,  in  contrast  to  the  chalky 
cliffs  of  England  or  Northern  France.  The 
ancient  costumes  of  the  Bretons  are  pictur- 
esque in  the  extreme,  but,  we  regret  to  say, 
are  fast  dying  out,  and  less  often  to  be  ob- 
served in  travelling  through  the  country. 

The  inn  at  Dol  is  the  Hotel  de  la  Grande 
Maison,  and  in  its  quaint  interior  we  re- 
mained for  a  night  and  then  proceeded  on 
our  way  to  Combourg. 

"  They  say  the  chateau  there  is  very  pictur- 
esque," said  the  Frenchman. 

"  Well,  we  must  stop  and  see  it  then,"  said 
Mr.  Wilton,  who  was  becoming  reconciled 
to  these  rapid  excursions,  and  endeavouring 
to  take  an  interest  in  Brittany. 

It  is  a  short  run  to  the  Chateau  de  Com- 
185 


Among  French  Inns 

bourg,  which  is  on  the  railway  line  running 
from  Dol  to  Rennes.  The  architecture  is  of 
the  fifteenth  century,  a  typical  mediaeval 
castle  with  stern  walls  dotted  with  windows, 
and  four  high  towers  with  pointed  roofs 
capped  by  iron  pinnacles.  The  Chateau  de 
Combourg  was  inherited  by  Frangois  Rene 
de  Chateaubriand  during  the  Revolution, 
and  a  great-nephew  of  the  author  is  still  in 
possession  of  it.  The  little  village  clustering 
at  the  foot  of  the  chateau  is  a  charming  and 
picturesque  group  of  cottages  reflected  in 
the  water  beside  it. 

"  Chateaubriand  speaks  of  Combourg  in 
the  ^  Memoires  d'Outre  Tombe,' "  said  the 
Frenchman  to  Miss  Wilton,  as  they  were 
wandering  about  the  place,  "  only  he  is  so 
sad  in  his  mood  that  I  hate  almost  to  recall 
his  words.  The  sadness  of  the  Revolution, 
of  course,  left  its  imprint  upon  his  sensitive 
mind,  and  his  writings  show  it." 

The  party  again  mounted  to  the  comfort- 
able cushions  of  the  automobiles,  and  the 
count  and  Mrs.  Wilton  led  the  cavalcade 
toward  Dinan,  which  is  west  of  Combourg 
and  Dol.  There  we  remained  for  a  night 
at  the  Hotel  d'Angleterre,  which  is  a  delight- 
ful place,   and  where  the  Englishman  was, 

1 86 


Among  the  Inns  of  Brittany 

of  course,  happy  and  seemingly  at  home. 
Dinan  is  a  most  interesting  old  town,  and 
should  not  be  confused  with  the  watering- 
place  Dinard,  opposite  St.  Malo,  and  on  the 
northwestern  corner  of  the  Long  bay  which 
runs  southward  to  Dinan.  The  one  is  a  fash- 
ionable seaside  resort,  the  other  a  quaint 
Breton  town,  filled  with  the  history  and  asso- 
ciations of  the  past  rather  more  than  with 
the  affairs  of  to-day. 

Being  tired  on  our  arrival  at  the  Hotel 
d'Angleterre,  we  retired  early  to  rest,  and 
on  the  morrow  went  forth  to  investigate  the 
town,  which  is  separated  a  little  from  both 
the  hotels  of  the  place.  Dinan  itself  stands 
upon  a  height  of  land  above  the  Ranee,  and 
the  country  about  it  is  full  of  wild  and  char- 
acteristic charm.  There  is  not  the  domestic 
quality  which  we  find  in  Normandy,  but  a 
more  rugged  effect  here,  with  gorges  and 
ramparts  rising  about  the  town,  ancient  forti- 
fications that  have  remained  through  the 
ages,  and  are  to-day  clothed  with  green  and 
moss. 

The  ancient  castle  of  Dinan,  around  which 
the  town  grew  up,  owes  its  existence  to  the 
Vicomte  Hamon,  and  dates  from  the  tenth 
century.      Harold   took   part   iii   a   siege   of 

187 


Among  French  Inns 

the  town  under  William  the  Conqueror,  and 
was  knighted  by  him.  The  heart  of  Du- 
guesclin  is  said  to  lie  beneath  the  tomb  of 
black  marble  in  the  Church  of  St.  Sauveur, 
where  his  wife  also  was  buried.  Behind  the 
church  are  some  gardens  which  overlook  a 
pleasing  view. 

A  few  kilometres  distant  are  the  ruins  of 
the  Chateau  de  la  Garaye,  picturesque  re- 
mains with  an  octagonal  tower  dressed  with 
Gothic  decorations.  It  is  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  and  is  known  to  the  world  througb 
"  The  Lady  of  La  Garaye,"  written  by  Mrs. 
Norton.  The  story  is  that  of  the  last  own- 
ers of  the  chateau,  the  Comte  Claude  Marot 
and  his  wife.  A  few  lines  of  the  poem  may 
not  be  inappropriate  here,  as  we  take  leave 
of  Dinan  and  its  delightful  neighbourhood: 

**  Go  forth  in  snow-white  cap  and  sable  gown. 
Tending  the  sick  and  hungry  in  the  town. 
And  show  dim  pictures  on  their  quiet  walls 
Of  those  who  dwelt  in  Garaye' s  ruined  halls.** 

Leaving  Dinan,  our  party  betook  them- 
selves westward  to  Lamballe,  pausing  at  the 
Hotel  de  France. 

"  I  wonder  how  many  Hotels  de  France 
1 88 


Among  the  Inns  of  Brittany 

there  are  in  Normandy  and  Brittany,"  said 
Mrs.  Wilton  derisively. 

"  I  should  hate  to  have  to  count  them," 
said  the  Englishman. 

"  We  are  certainly  getting  a  liberal  edu- 
cation in  country  inns  and  their  names,"  put 
in  Mr.  Wilton,  as  we  left  the  automobiles  to 
wander  through  the  town. 

Lamballe  was  owned  by  the  house  of 
Penthievre  from  the  eleventh  century,  and 
has  a  good  church  of  the  thirteenth  century 
and  earlier,  which  was  once  the  chapel  of 
the  chateau.  It  is  Notre  Dame.  The  smaller 
Church  of  St.  Martin  belonged  to  the  Abbey 
of  Marmoutiers,  established  in  the  eleventh 
century  by  the  Comte  de  Lamballe.  The 
famous  Princesse  de  Lamballe,  who  was  the 
friend  of  Marie  Antoinette,  married  a  mem- 
ber of  this  family,  and  the  place  must  have 
an  added  interest,  if  only  on  account  of  the 
association  of  its  name. 

Farther  west  is  St.  Brieuc,  a  cathedral 
town,  of  age  and  historical  interest,  but  of 
exceeding  dulness.  The  Hotel  de  la  Croix 
Blanche  was  our  stopping-place,  and  there 
we  spent  the  night. 

"  I  declare,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  "  I  feel  so 
tired  of  bouncing  over  the  roads  in  the  Mer- 

189 


Among  French  Inns 

cedes  that  IVe  a  great  mind  to  go  back  to 
Rouen." 

"  Oh,  please  do  not  desert  us,"  said  a 
chorus  of  voices,  and  after  some  persuasion 
Mr.  Blodget  Wilton  was  packed  off  to  bed 
with  a  nice  glass  of  rum  and  water  and 
sugar,  to  which,  we  must  confess,  he  had 
taken  a  passing  fancy. 

After  visiting  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Etienne, 
at  St.  Brieuc,  our  party  were  ready  to  move 
on  to  the  next  destination,  through  the  wild 
and  picturesque  scenery  of  Brittany,  peopled 
by  the  simple  Breton  folk  in  their  character- 
istic costumes. 

"  I  never  saw  such  a  place  as  France,"  said 
Miss  Wilton ;  "  everything  seems  to  be 
named  after  a  saint." 

"  That  is  because  it  is  a  sainted  country," 
said  Count  Romeo,  chuckling  to  himself  as 
he  was  jounced  off  on  the  road  that  runs  to 
Plouaret.  About  midway  between  it  and  St. 
Brieuc  is  Guingamp,  a  bright  and  lively 
place.  The  Hotel  de  TOuest  was  inclined 
to  receive  the  party  with  joyous  hospitality, 
and  we  all  entered  and  partook  thereof. 

The  town  was,  like  Lamballe,  part  of  the 
possessions  of  the  house  of  Penthievre,  and 
has   some   interesting   churches   and   the    re- 

190 


Among  the  Inns  of  Brittany 

mains  of  an  abbey  founded  in  the  twelfth 
century.  The  lanes  and  roadsides  about  this 
part  of  Brittany  are  quaint  and  rural  in  the 
extreme,  suggesting  at  times  certain  portions 
of  England  or  Wales.  But  how  the  sense  of 
age  is  brought  before  such  travellers  as 
Americans,  to  whom  a  hundred  years  is  a 
historic  period  of  time!  Here  the  centuries 
pile  one  upon  another  until  a  thousand  years 
are  added  to  the  sum  of  their  amount,  and 
often  more  than  mere  crumbling  remains  bear 
witness  to  the  hardihood  and  works  of  man. 
We  cannot  leave  Guingamp  without  a 
passing  mention  of  its  quaint  mill,  often 
painted  by  artists,  with  its  background  of 
poplar-trees.  To  Morlaix  we  proceed  at 
full  speed,  and  alight  at  the  delightful  Hotel 
de  I'Europe.  From  Morlaix  many  delight- 
ful excursions  may  be  made.  We  find  in  the 
town  that  usual  old-world  quaintness  which 
pervades  Brittany,  but  little  that  is  remark- 
able. Its  position  upon  an  estuary  of  the  sea, 
that  runs  for  several  kilometres  to  the  coast, 
part  stream,  part  canal,  is  in  a  deep  valley  or 
ravine  between  steep  hills  that  are  crossed 
by  the  railroad  in  a  bold  and  picturesque 
manner.     The  Chateau  du  Taureau,  which 


191 


Among  French  Inns 

stood  upon  an  island,  now,  alas,  serves  the 
purpose  of  a  prison. 

We  are  now  in  Finistere  and  may  pro- 
ceed toward  Brest,  the  most  western  town  in 
France  of  any  importance.  There  the  full 
ruggedness  of  the  coast  of  Brittany  shows 
itself  in  its  wild  beauty  and  attraction  as 
we  turn  our  steps  homeward.  Before  going 
southward,  however,  we  cannot  refrain  from 
mentioning,  for  those  who  are  so  inclined, 
the  delightful  excursions  which  may  be  made 
from  Lannion,  a  town  situated  a  little  north 
of  Plouaret. 

There  the  Hotel  de  TEurope  may  be  used 
as  headquarters,  with  its  pretty  garden,  and 
visits  may  be  made  to  the  ruins  of  the  Cha- 
teau de  Tonquedec  on  its  wooded  hill  above 
a  pond,  from  which  rise  the  voices  of  innu- 
merable frogs.  There  are  a  number  of 
chateaux  in  the  environs  of  Lannion,  among 
them  Coetirec,  Kergrist,  and  Runfas.  The 
strange  Breton  names  are  in  contrast  to  those 
in  other  parts  of  France,  and  the  chateaux 
likewise    are   characteristic   of    Brittany. 

It  is  impossible,  in  so  short  a  sketch  as 
this,  to  give  anything  like  an  adequate  de- 
scription of  this  interesting  part  of  France, 
so  distinctive  in  itself,  almost  Dutch  or  Ger- 

192 


Among  the  Inns  of  Brittany 

man,  in  its  contrast  to  the  rest  of  the  country. 
We  can  only  indicate  a  few  places  to  which 
the  visitor  may  well  repair  with  advantage, 
and  leave  him  to  continue  on  his  road. 

Our  own  party  returned  to  Normandy  and 
Rouen  once  more,  after  visiting  Chateaulin, 
Quimper,  and  Lorient,  on  the  south  coast 
of  Brittany.  From  there  we  turned  north- 
ward to  Pontivy,  an  interesting  place,  re- 
named Napoleonville  by  the  Emperor.  The 
return  journey  may  be  made  by  way  of 
Rennes  and  Fougeres,  Mayenne,  Pres  en 
Pail,  to  Normandy  once  more. 

On  our  return  trip  we  visited  the  famous 
stones  of  Carnac,  which,  though  smaller  than 
those  at  Stonehenge  in  England,  are  still 
wild,  and  intensely  interesting  relics  of  the 
druid  rites  that  have  been  celebrated  in 
Brittany.  They  arise  like  sentinels  of  stone, 
soft  gray-green  in  colour,  guarding  the  mys- 
tery of  their  past  that  lies  buried  in  the 
heather  around  them.  Near  them  is  the  Cha- 
teau de  Kercado.  As  the  roofs  of  the 
chateau  and  the  silent  stones  fade  in  the 
distance,  let  us  bid  farewell  to  Brittany  and 
its  quaint  character  and  history,  and  return 
again  to  more  familiar  regions,  though  better 
for  our  glimpse  into  its  scenery  and  life. 

193 


CHAPTER   VII 

AT    THE    HOTEL    DU    GRAND    CERF 
Les  Andelys 

There  is  a  delightful  old  chateau,  not 
very  far  from  Rouen,  known  as  the  Cha- 
teau de  Martinville.  It  is  a  fine  example  of 
Norman  architecture  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, symmetrical  in  design,  and  set  amid 
charming  surroundings. 

Our  party  decided  to  visit  it,  and  found 
that  it  v^ell  repaid  them  for  the  excursion. 
The  chateau  has  the  proverbial  high  roofs, 
ornamented  with  the  graceful  iron  points 
which  are  always  a  delicate  and  necessary 
finish  to  its  walls.  The  latter  are  flanked 
by  four  round  towers  in  the  same  style. 
Above  the  door,  in  the  centre  of  the  fagade, 
is  a  bow  window,  highly  ornamented,  which 
ends  in  an  angular  tower  in  the  roof,  and 
adds  greatly  to  the  charm  of  the  building. 

On  the  left  of  the  chateau  is  one  of  those 
194 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

delightful  walls,  so  frequently  to  be  found 
in  Normandy,  as  in  other  parts  of  France, 
enclosing  the  gardens  or  courts  around 
which  stables  are  built  in  large  estates.  Here, 
however,  they  assume  a  more  mellow  hue, 
and  a  picturesqueness  of  appearance  which 
gives  to  them  a  truer  expression  of  age  than 
in.  the  central  or  southern  provinces  of 
France.  On  their  inner  sides  are  usually  to 
be  found  wall-fruits  and  vines  that  dress  them 
with  a  mantle  of  friendly  green,  and  give 
forth  odours,  and  bear  grapes  and  other 
delicacies  in  summer-time.  The  gardens 
contain  delightful  tangles  of  vegetables  and 
flowers  and  alleys  in  which  to  walk  and  enjoy 
the  scented  atmosphere  and  soft  airs  that 
blow  across  the  face  and  breathe  of  fanciful 
desires. 

The  Frenchman  would  have  liked  to  entice 
Miss  Wilton  into  one  of  these  charmed  en- 
closures, had  the  time  permitted,  during  their 
excursions,  and  had  the  other  members  of 
the  party  been  more  often  absent  than  they 
were.  However,  the  time  must  surely  present 
itself  sooner  or  later,  and  so  he  waited,  watch- 
ful, hopeful,  on  the  alert,  as  Frenchmen  are 
apt  to  do,  his  mind  intent  upon  his  subject, 
and  his  keen  wit  ever  ready  to  be  used  when 

195 


Among  French  Inns 

necessary  to  attract  the  desired  object  of  its 
chase.  There  being  little  opportunity  at 
Martinville,  he  was  forced  to  content  him- 
self with  whispering  nothings  of  an  amatory 
or  flattering  character  into  her  exquisitely 
shaped  ears,  and  to  hope  for  assistance  from 
his  friend  the  duchess  when  they  should 
arrive  at"  Trouville.  The  duchess  was  al- 
ways ready  for  a  little  romance  or  intrigue, 
and  nothing  delighted  her  so  much  as  to 
encourage  flirtations,  and,  if  possible,  arrange 
a  match  against  the  wishes  of  the  parents 
of  either  interested  party. 

So  the  Frenchman  hoped  and  waited,  and 
viewed  with  regret  the  arrangement  which 
placed  Miss  Wilton  in  the  automobile  with 
the  Englishman  as  they  started  from  the 
chateau.  It  must  be  said  here  that  Mr.  Wil- 
ton had  engaged  two  new  machines  of  the 
latest  model  to  come  from  Paris  to  Rouen 
and  take  this  cosmopolitan  party  of  tourists 
whither  they  would  go,  and  where  they 
would  remain,  and  that  the  machines  had 
arrived  at  the  Hotel  du  Nord  the  day  pre- 
vious. 

It  was  now  decided  to  go  to  the  Hotel  du 
Grand  Cerf,  at  Les  Andelys,  for  the  next 
few  days.    This  ancient  inn  was  known  to  the 

196 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

Frenchman  and  recommended  by  him  in  the 
most  laudatory  terms,  and  there  the  whole 
party  repaired  with  all  possible  speed. 
Before  doing  so,  however,  a  rapid  trip  was 
made  to  the  picturesque  Chateau  de  Cleres, 
which  is  some  little  distance  north  of  Rouen. 
After  visiting  this  delightful  place,  which 
dates  from  the  fourteenth  and  sixteenth  cen- 
turies, the  party  again  set  forth  for  Les 
Andelys. 

The  day  was  beautiful,  and  the  undulating 
country,  smiling  in  its  fair  and  fragrant 
beauty,  seemed  as  if  made  to  be  admired. 

The  count  was  in  rhapsodies  of  poetic  joy 
at  the  scenery  and  the  air  of  everything 
about  him.  The  soft  zephyrs  passed  over 
his  Excellency's  face  and  cooled  his  Excel- 
lency's brow.  The  clouds  in  the  heavens 
were  not  enough  to  hide  the  rays  of  sunlight 
that  poured  down  upon  this  glorious  portion 
of  the  earth  and  touched  its  beauties  with  a 
magic  hand. 

The  count's  bosom  heaved  sighs  of  delight 
and  pleasure,  and  his  great  eyes  rolled  about 
in  their  sockets  like  orbs  of  living  Italian 
fire.  His  soul  was  filledr  with  love  and 
longing,  and  he  thought  of  the  amorous 
people  of  his  native  land,  and  finally  of  the 

197 


Among  French  Inns 

fair  Miss  Gladys  Wilton  before  him,  beauti- 
ful as  the  lilies  of  the  field  and  arrayed  like 
one  of  them. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  count?  "  said 
she,  as  she  turned  her  lovely  head  and  per- 
ceived his  pensive  expression. 

*'  Oh,  mademoiselle,  it  is  of  you  —  the 
loave  is  in  the  boosom,  and  fills  it  all  up  to 
the  mouth.  Ah,  you  are  divine  this  morning! 
I  worship  in  the  shrine.  If  I  had  the  guitar 
I  would  serenade  the  fair  signorina.  Con 
amore!  Con  amore!''  and  the  count  cast 
languishing  eyes  at  the  object  of  his  affection. 

"  Do  you  really  play  on  the  guitar,  Count 
di  Pomponi?"  said  Miss  Wilton.  "You 
never  told  me  that  you  did." 

"  In  the  Italy  I  sing  to  the  guitar  in  the 
garden,  or  under  the  windows  of  the  ladies. 
Ah,  that  is  the  way  we  do  in  the  home," 
answered  Count  Romeo,  aglow  at  the  thought 
of  his  past  peccadilloes  and  attachments. 

"How  romantic!"  exclaimed  Miss  Wil- 
ton.    "  And  do  you  sing  also?  " 

For  answer  the  count  opened  his  mouth 
and  let  loose  all  the  fervour  of  his  soul  in  a 
burst  of  song  that  nearly  deafened  the  occu- 
pants of  the  automobile,  and  went  resounding 


198 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

over  the  hills  and  dales  through  which  they 
were  passing. 

Miss  Wilton  was  convulsed  with  laughter, 
but  the  count  was  well  pleased  with  his 
efforts.  His  methods  of  love-making  were 
spontaneous  and  direct,  and  untrammelled 
by  conventions  or  other  impediments  to  his 
purpose.  Had  he  been  young  and  handsome, 
his  advances  would  not  have  been  received  so 
tolerantly,  but  as  it  was,  he  was  only  a  figure 
of  fun,  too  humourous  to  take  seriously,  and 
too  animated  to  ignore. 

Thus  Les  Andelys  were  reached.  These 
twin  towns  are  situated  on  and  near  the 
banks  of  the  Seine.  The  road  crosses  a 
plain  before  we  reach  Le  Petit  Andely,  a 
pretty  village,  above  which  rises  a  pile  of 
beautiful  ruins  that  compose  the  Chateau 
Gaillard.  Opposite  is  an  island  on  which 
rises  the  remains  of  a  ruined  tower  built  by 
Richard  Coeur  de  Lion. 

Amid  these  picturesque  surroundings  we 
reach  Le  Grand  Andely,  and  draw  up  at  the 
door  of  an  ancient  hostelry,  the  delightful 
old  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf.  The  building  is 
a  picturesque  house  of  the  sixteenth  century. 
It  is  built  of  white  plaster  and  black  beams, 
richly  carved,  with  a  heavy  cornice,  which 

199 


Among  French  Inns 

divides  the  second  story  from  the  roof.  It 
is  situated  directly  upon  the  street,  like  most 
of  the  French  inns,  without  the  grounds  and 
gardens  that  so  frequently  surround  those 
in  England.  A  smiling  host  greets  us,  and 
we  pass  on  into  a  quaint  old  courtyard  that 
delights  the  artistic  eye. 

The  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf  is  one  of  the 
most  interesting  inns  of  France,  as  well  as 
one  of  the  oldest.  It  is  well  known  to  anti- 
quarians, and  dates  back  as  far  as  the  thir- 
teenth century.  It  has  been  the  abode  of 
princes  and  illustrious  personages  from  the 
days  of  the  English  invasions  to  our  own 
times,  and  has  traditions  of  a  historical  and 
literary  character,  of  which  a  more  important 
place  might  well  be  proud. 

The  original  building  was  partly  ruined 
by  fire,  and  was  rebuilt  in  15 15  by  Nicholas 
Duval,  Seigneur  du  Viennois  and  a  counsel- 
lor of  the  Parliament  of  Rouen,  one  of  the 
favourites  of  Frangois  I.  In  the  interior  of 
the  inn  the  familiar  salamander  and  the 
fleur-de-lys  of  the  Roi  Chevalier  appear  in 
profusion.  There  is  a  beautiful  carved 
"  tambour  "  in  the  corner  of  one  of  the  rooms, 
forming  a  sort  of  circular  closet.  The  great 
chimneypiece,    also    of    the    Renaissance,    is 

2QO 


CHIMNEYPIECE,  HOTEL    DU    GRAND    CERF,  GRAND    ANDELY 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

most  interesting,  and  is  worthy  of  one  of  the 
chateaux  of  Touraine. 

In  October,  1847,  Victor  Hugo  visited  the 
inn  and  dedicated  the  following  couplet  to 
the  chimneypiece : 

**  La  vaste  cheminee,  a  Pecusson  aider, 
Devore  en  nous  chauiFant  une  chene  tout  entier/' 

Nicholas  Poussin  also  stayed  here,  as  well 
as  les  Corneilles,  Pigault-Lebrun,  Walter 
Scott,  Horace  Vernet,  Chateaubriand, Viollet- 
le-Duc,  and  Rosa  Bonheur.  Antoine  de 
Bourbon,  father  of  Henry  IV.,  is  said  to  have 
died  in  one  of  the  rooms  on  the  first  story 
as  a  result  of  a  wound  received  during  the 
siege  of  Rouen  in  1552.  Later  this  interest- 
ing house  was  used  as  a  summer  residence 
by  the  Archbishop  of  Rouen,  seigneur  of 
Les  Andelys. 

In  October,  1749,  the  executors  of  Marie 
Catherine  Duval  sold  the  Hotel  du  Viennois 
to  a  Monsieur  Lefevre,  who  was  the  first  to 
make  it  into  a  public  hostelry.  Its  present 
host  is  the  hospitable  Monsieur  J.  Duval. 

"This  certainly  is  a  real  inn,"  said  Mrs. 
Wilton,  who  had  been  rather  quiet  during 
the  ride.  "  I  declare,  it  looks  a  thousand 
years  old,  but  I  do  not  see  how  we  are  ever 

201 


Among  French  Inns 

to  squeeze  into  it,  with  Cecile  and  Henry 
and  your  Dante  Galante,  count.  I  think 
they  will  have  to  sleep  on  the  roof." 

"  He  is  so  high  we  never  reach  them  if 
they  did,"  said  his  Excellency,  referring  at 
once  to  the  roof  and  the  servants. 

"  I  can  do  without  Dante  Galante,  and 
madame  can  do  without  her  maid,  but  then," 
he  added,  meaning  thereby  that  they  could 
not  do  without  them.  The  count  was  as 
helpless  as  a  baby  when  his  servant  was 
absent.  He  was  unable  to  handle  either  him- 
self or  his  wardrobe  without  the  assistance 
of  this  faithful  attendant.  He  could  neither 
shave  nor  dress  alone,  and  was  unable  to 
stoop  comfortably  in  order  to  unpack  his 
clothes,  owing  to  the  singular  character  of 
his  figure.  However,  the  travellers  were 
successfully  stowed  away  in  the  various 
rooms  of  the  inn,  and  gathered,  the  next  day, 
to  see  the  sights  of  the  neighbourhood. 

As  they  were  about  to  set  forth  on  foot  an 
unusual  commotion  was  observed  to  be  in 
progress  in  the  courtyard,  and  on  looking 
out,  it  appeared  that  Dante  Galante  was  the 
centre  of  attraction.  He  had  got  into  some 
argument  over  an  iron  which  he  wished  to 


202 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

heat  in  order  to  press  one  of  his  master^s 
wondrous  suits  of  clothes,  and,  we  blush  to 
acknowledge,  he  had  used  rather  ungallant 
language  to  one  of  the  maids.  The  race  feel- 
ing made  itself  felt,  below  stairs,  and  the 
gallant  Dante  found  himself  suddenly  in  the 
courtyard,  sprawling  unceremoniously  on  the 
ground  with  one  of  the  men  servants  of  the 
inn. 

Many  were  the  outcries,  and  great  the  ire 
of  the  Italian.  He  rose  and  made  an  on- 
slaught upon  his  enemy,  and  both  of  them 
were  soon  the  centre  of  an  excited  group, 
some  urging  bloodshed  and  others  endeavour- 
ing to  secure  "  peace  with  honour."  The 
count  was  much  concerned  at  the  disturbance, 
and  fearful  of  the  future,  not  only  of  his 
servant,  but  of  his  costume,  which,  needless 
to  say,  had  completely  disappeared. 

"  Dante  Galante  is  always  in  the  trouble," 
he  exclaimed  in  agitation.  "  If  I  go  out  he  is 
flirting  with  the  girls;  or  he  is  hot,  or  he  is 
cold,"  meaning  presumably  that  Dante  Ga- 
lante was  inclined  to  live  up  to  the  latter 
part  of  his  name. 

After  a  great  deal  of  talking  and  discus- 
sion, the  quarrel  was  made  up  between  the 
fiery  Italian  and  the  inhabitants  of  the  inn, 

203 


Among  French  Inns 

and  everything  ran  smoothly  once  more.  It 
was  proposed  to  walk  through  the  quaint  old 
town  and  visit  the  monument  erected  to  the 
painter  Nicholas  Poussin,  who  was  born  at 
Villers,  a  small  hamlet  two  or  three  kilo- 
metres from  Le  Grand  Andely.  The  statue 
is  situated  in  the  Place  du  Marche,  and  com- 
memorates this  great  master  of  landscape 
painting,  whose  works,  with  those  of  Claude, 
so  nobly  depict  the  beauties  of  the  French 
country.  The  work  of  Poussin  is  deeper  in 
colouring  and  feeling  than  that  of  Claude, 
his  pastures  more  fertile  and  his  groves  more 
thickly  wooded.  Still  we  find  in  his  land- 
scapes the  same  classic  touch,  the  murky  pools 
and  streams,  the  graceful  figures  bathing 
or  reclining  upon  their  banks.  They  remind 
us  of  the  lines  of  Thomas  Gray  when  we 
look  upon  them: 

**  Where'er  the  oak's  thick  branches  stretch 

A  broader,  browner  shade. 
Where'er  the  rude  and  moss-grown  beech 

O'ercanopies  the  glade. 
Beside  some  water's  rushy  brink 
With  me  the  Muse  shall  sit  and  think 

(At  ease  reclined  in  rustic  state) 
How  vain  the  ardour  of  the  crowd. 
How  low,  how  little,  are  the  proud. 

How  indigent  the  great  !  " 
204 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

It  is  impossible,  in  looking  upon  the  figure 
of  so  great  an  imaginative  artist  as  was 
Poussin,  not  to  recall  his  admirable  scenes 
and  his  truthful  portrayal  of  such  thoughts 
as  these.  That  the  woody  dells  and  graceful 
ruins  of  his  native  country  brought  inspira- 
tion to  his  genius  is  scarcely  to  be  doubted, 
and  that  Le  Grand  Andely  should  honour 
his  memory  is  fitting  and  natural. 

The  relations  of  Les  Andelys  are  interest- 
ing to  observe.  Le  Grand  Andely,  removed 
from  the  Seine,  and  on  a  tributary  of  this 
river,  arose  out  of  the  depths  of  the  valley, 
where  it  could  neither  observe  the  waters  of 
the  fruitful  stream  nor  increase  its  impor- 
tance by  the  commerce  which  might  be  de- 
rived from  it.  Still,  it  grew  and  thrived 
long  before  Le  Petit  Andely,  a  little  village 
on  the  borders  of  the  greater  river,  came  into 
existence.  It  possesses  a  church,  called 
Notre  Dame,  with  some  magnificent  carving 
about  its  windows  and  portal. 

The  chief  portions  of  the  history  of  the 
town  centre  around  this  church,  whose  ear- 
liest foundation  is  ascribed  to  St.  Clotilde, 
wife  of  King  Clovis,  who  established  a  mon- 
astery for  young  girls  in  the  early  part  of 
the  sixth  century.     A  miracle  is  told  of  St. 

205 


Among  French  Inns 

Clotilde  incident  to  the  building  of  her  mon- 
astery. Taking  pity  on  the  poor  workmen, 
who  had  had  nothing  to  drink  but  water, 
owing  to  the  absence  of  vineyards  (a  circum- 
stance which  in  France  is  considered  a  hard- 
ship), she  changed  the  water  of  a  spring 
near  by  to  wine,  which  wondrous  act  has 
ever  since  been  extolled  to  her  glory  and 
honour. 

On  the  heights  above  Le  Petit  Andely 
rises  the  picturesque  pile  of  ruins  that  form 
the  remains  of  the  Chateau  Gaillard.  It 
was  built  by  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion  toward 
the  middle  of  the  twelfth  century,  for  the 
purpose  of  having  a  formidable  fortress 
from  which  to  defend  the  integrity  of  the 
Duchy  of  Normandy  from  its  enemies.  At 
the  same  time  the  village  was  founded. 
Prior  to  this,  an  earlier  chateau  had  been 
built  on  the  island  opposite,  the  remains  of 
which  are  still  in  existence. 

As  the  history  of  Le  Grand  Andely  centres 
about  its  church,  so  that  of  Le  Petit  Andely 
is  associated  with  its  chateau,  whose  noble 
ruins  are  such  a  landmark  in  the  scene.  It 
is  remarkable  that  this  great  citadel  was 
built  in   a  single  year.     Richard   Cceur   de 


206 


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At  the  Hotel  dii  Grmtd  Cerf 

Lion,  on  viewing  its  grandeur,  exclaimed, 
*^  Quelle  est  belle,  ma  fille  d'un  an!'' 

Both  the  fortress  of  Gaillard  and  that  on 
the  island  were  besieged  by  Philippe-Au- 
guste,  who,  after  the  mysterious  death  of 
Prince  Arthur  at  Rouen  (attributed  to  his 
uncle,  King  John  of  England),  decided  to 
confiscate  the  Duchy  of  Normandy.  The 
siege  of  the  Chateau  Gaillard  was  a  horrible 
one.  Its  details  have  been  described  by  Will- 
iam le  Breton,  a  poet  of  the  period. 

Many  are  the  dramas  and  tragedies  of 
history  that  have  been  enacted  around  the 
walls  of  this  early  mediaeval  fortress.  We 
are  enabled  to  touch  upon  them  only  in  pass- 
ing, and  suggest  to  the  visitor  the  wealth  of 
interest  that  clusters  about  these  falling  and 
weather-beaten  stones.  They  are  to-day  the 
picturesque  and  silent  witnesses  of  the  events 
thp.*^  have  taken  place  in  the  centuries  passed. 

The  half-ruined  towers  rise,  like  ghostly 
phantoms  crowning  the  steepnesses  on  which 
they  stand.  They  seem  like  spirits  of  a  past 
existence  lifting  themselves  out  of  the  soft 
light  of  the  summer  evening.  The  village 
nestles  beneath  them,  and  the  waters  of  the 
river  reflect  the  dim  forms  of  the  boats  that 
pass   over  them.     It   \s   all   fascinating   and 

207 


Among  French  Inns 

suggestive  to  the  imagination,  breathing  the 
subtle  atmosphere  of  the  chivalric,  historic 
Normandy  of  the  past  and  of  its  present 
rural  simplicity. 

"  What  could  one  see  more  delightful  to 
the  eye?"  said  the  Frenchman  to  Miss  Wil- 
ton, as  they  stood  together  on  the  bank  of  the 
river,  looking  up  at  the  rugged  remains  of  the 
castle  beetling  against  the  sky. 

"  It  makes  me  feel  glad  that  I  live  in  the 
twentieth  century,  and  not  in  the  days  of 
donjons  and  tortures,  when  women  were  im- 
prisoned and  poisoned  whenever  they  of- 
fended their  lords  and  masters,"  said  Miss 
Wilton,  half-shuddering  at  the  thoughts  of 
the  dark  deeds  which  those  towers  had 
enclosed.  "  It  must  have  been  terrible  for 
the  poor  people  who  were  starved  to  death 
during  the  siege  you  have  described,"  for 
the  Frenchman  had  been  regaling  his  com- 
panion with  a  detailed  history  of  the  fortress. 

"  I  would  like  to  see  you  crown  one  of 
the  more  recent  chateaux  of  France  as 
chatelaine,"  said  the  Frenchman,  *'  and  to 
restore  it  with  you  as  it  should  be.  How 
beautiful  we  could  make  it!" 

"  It  would  be  charming,"  whispered  his 
fair  companion,   carried   away  by  the   idea. 

208 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

Then,  half-checking  herself,  as  if  some  new 
thought  had  crossed  her  mind,  she  added,  ^'  I 
think  we  should  join  the  others  now.  It  is 
getting  late,  and  we  must  return  to  the  inn." 

^'  As  you  will,"  replied  the  Frenchman, 
and  they  left  the  scene  and  its  possible  dan- 
gers. Somehow,  the  Frenchman  felt  that  his 
task  was  more  difficult  than  he  had  realized, 
and  that  this  beautiful  winged  butterfly  was 
more  difficult  to  capture  than  he  had  calcu- 
lated or  bargained  for.  Yet  he  comforted 
himself  with  the  assurance  that  the  duchess 
would  help  him  when  he  confided  to  her 
his  troubles  and  his  desires. 

The  host  of  the  inn  was  full  of  good 
humour  and  anxious  to  please  his  guests. 
The  dinner  was  everything  that  could  be 
desired,  and  the  count  consequently  in  the 
fairest  of  moods  and  the  most  agreeable  of 
humours.  He  had  discovered  that  Dante 
Galante  was  really  not  the  chief  offender 
in  the  dispute  of  the  morning,  and,  in  fact, 
that  one  of  the  visitors  in  the  kitchen,  angered 
at  his  intrusion,  had  taken  the  liberty  of  pull- 
ing his  nose,  which  was  in  itself  cause  for  any 
retaliation  short  of  manslaughter. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  keep  a  sharp  look- 
out on  him,  count,"  said  Mr.  Wilton.    "  You 

209 


Among  French  Inns 

know  that  we  might  have  some  international 
complications  if  any  blood  was  spilt.  And 
I  should  have  a  nice  time  getting  things 
settled,  down  here  in  the  country,"  he  added 
to  the  Englishman,  as  every  one  parted  for 
the  night  and  proceeded  to  stow  themselves 
away  in  the  various  apartments  of  the  inn. 

There  are  many  delightful  places  to  visit 
ffom  Les  Andelys,  and  our  party  made 
several  attractive  excursions  from  there.  The 
places  are  all  in  the  neighbourhood,  and 
may  be  seen  with  considerable  advantage  by 
visitors  at  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf.  The 
ruins  of  the  Abbaye  de  Fontaine-Guerard, 
in  the  Pare  de  Radepont  (Canton  de  Fleury- 
sur-Andelle),  are  beautiful  remains,  situated 
among  ideal  surroundings.  The  Abbaye  de 
Mortemer,  at  Lisors,  near  Lyons-la-Foret, 
is  another  of  equal  charm  and  beauty. 

The  chateau  and  church  of  Gisors  are  also 
two  principal  objective  points  of  pilgrimage. 
The  chateau  is  in  ruins,  but  the  church  is  a 
superb  bit  of  richly  sculptured  architec- 
ture. 

Were  our  space  sufficient  we  might  describe 
these  lovely  haunts  in  the  Department  of 
Eure  —  for  we  are  now  there  —  in  detail, 
and  illustrate  in  some  way  their  attractions 

2IO  • 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

and  their  history.  There  are,  however,  many 
other  places  that  call  upon  our  attention,  and 
it  is  to  these  that  we  must  beg  the  reader  to 
accompany  us.  They  are  farther  from  the 
inn  in  which  we  are  staying,  and  in  some 
cases  necessitate  a  journey  by  rail;  but  they 
may  all  be  visited  in  an  automobile,  when 
time  is  no  particular  object. 

Were  he  so  inclined,  the  visitor  might  even 
push  farther  north,  and,  reentering  Seine 
Inferieure,  visit  Dieppe  and  its  surroundings, 
and  also  the  delightful  vicinity  of  Neufchatel, 
made  familiar  to  us  by  its  cheese.  These  por- 
tions of  Normandy  are  rich  in  historic  monu- 
ments, chateaux,  manoirs,  churches,  civic 
buildings,  dating  back  hundreds  of  years,  and 
bearing  all  the  evidences  of  their  age.  We 
have  left  them,  however,  for  others  to 
describe,  and  are  inclined  to  push  farther 
afield  in  our  excursions  through  the  country 
of  France. 

One  of  the  most  attractive  trips  to  be  taken 
is  to  Louviers  and  Pont  de  I'Arche.  Louviers 
is  situated  on  the  river  Eure,  aod  the  latter 
place  is  at  the  point  where  it  empties  into 
the  Seine.  The  party  set  forth  one  morning, 
crossing  the  river  at  Le  Petit  Andely,  and 
passing  through  the  country  that  divides  it 

211 


Among  French  Inns 

from  the  smaller  river,  reached  Louviers  in 
time  for  dejeuner, 

"  This  seems  a  nice  old  place,"  said  Mr. 
Wilton,  who  had  been  induced  to  join  the 
company  on  this  occasion.  "  I  notice  they 
haven't  got  their  trolley-lines  down  in  this 
part  of  the  country,  though.  I  should  think 
some  one  might  have  enterprise  enough  to 
start  one  up.  There  ought  to  be  a  nice  little 
business  between  here  and  Evreux.  A  sort 
of  county  town,  isn't  it?  " 

The  Englishman  at  once  inquired  into  the 
population  of  the  two  towns,  and  Mr.  Wilton 
thought  they  sounded  decidedly  promising, 
and  was  amusing  himself,  in  a  harmless 
fashion,  by  figuring  out  fares  and  profits, 
until  he  was  pounced  upon  by  his  wife  and 
forced  to  stop. 

"  My  dear  James,  can't  you  ever  get  away 
from  business?  The  idea  of  thinking  of 
trolley-lines  in  Louviers!  Why,  it  would 
ruin  the  place  absolutely." 

"  Well,  I  guess  I  could  make  a  line  pay 
here  inside  jof  a  year,"  replied  Mr.  Blodget 
Wilton,  with  an  air  of  bravado.  He  was, 
however,  deterred  for  the  time  being  from 
any  further  calculations,  and  contented  him- 
self  with    following    the    rest   of    the    party 

212 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

about  with  a  bored  expression  and  his  hands 
in  his  pockets. 

"  What  a  superb  bit  of  carving  there  is  on 
the  porch  of  that  church,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton. 
"  Look,  James,  do  you  see  it?  "  Mr.  Blodget 
Wilton  looked  obediently,  but  remained  un- 
impressed by  its  grandeur  and  richness, 

"  It  is  finer,  almost,  than  the  south  portal 
of  Canterbury  Cathedral,"  said  the  English- 
man, after  a  careful  survey  of  this  beautiful 
portal.  The  Englishman  never  spoke  un- 
necessarily, and  never  made  a  statement  that 
was  not  carefully  weighed  and  considered 
beforehand. 

•  "Well,  I  should  smile,"  said  Mr.  Wilton, 
not  to  be  outdone  in  appreciation.  "  I'm 
not  much  on  architecture,  but  I  should  say 
Canterbury  couldn't  hold  a  candle  to  this 
place.  Suppose  we  just  look  inside  and  see 
what  they've  got  there.  I'd  like  to  bet  it's 
full  of  wax  statues  and  imitation  gold  flowers 
and  dripping  candles.  Never  could  stand 
them,  even  in  New  York.  Never  could!" 
And  Mr.  Wilton  disappeared  into  the  solemn 
stillness  of  the  church. 

"  ^  Fools  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to 
tread,' "  muttered  the  Frenchman  to  himself, 
in  resentment  at  Mr.  Wilton's  way  of  speak- 

213 


Amo7tg  French  Inns 

ing  of  his  country's  famous  shrines.  To  him, 
perhaps,  there  was  more  feeling  of  reverence 
for  the  letter  than  the  spirit  of  his  religion 
and  his  life.  Still,  who  are  we,  that  we 
should  inquire  into  the  depths  of  his  char- 
acter? Or  who  was  Mr.  Blodget  Wilton, 
that  he  should  burst  into  the  church  with  so 
much  levity?  We  are  always  ready  to  judge, 
always  ready  to  pick  flaws  before  perfecting 
ourselves,  in  this  world,  and  the  characters 
of  this  book,  being,  after  all,  only  poor 
human  beings,  are  possessed  of  all  or  rather 
most  of  the  frailties  common  to  mankind. 
Let  us  take  them  as  they  are,  and  not  expect 
too  much  from  them,  lest  we  be  disappointed. 
Ideals  are  soon  broken,  and  gods  soon  become 
men,  when  closely  examined. 

Mr.  Blodget  Wilton  did  not  like  the 
church  any  better  than  he  had  expected,  but 
his  wife  was  determined  that  he  should  give 
himself  over  to  an  appreciation  of  the  his- 
tory and  artistic  elements  of  Louviers. 

"  There's  no  use  in  telling  me  a  lot  of 
dates  and  names.  I  can  tell  you  just  what  it 
is  before  you  begin.  They're  all  the  same, 
these  old  Normandy  towns.  I  found  that 
out  before  we  left  Fecamp.  And  I  wish  to 
goodness  I  was  back  there."     (Mr.  Blodget 

214 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

Wilton  was,  we  fear,  recollecting  the  several 
good  glasses  of  Burgundy  he  had  sipped  with 
mine  host  of  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf.) 

"Come,  now,  Mr.  de  B ,"  he  con- 
tinued, addressing  the  Frenchman,  "  isn't  this 
just  about  it?  William  the  Conqueror,  Rich- 
ard Coeur  de  Lion,  Joan  of  Arc,  and  one  or 
two  others,  got  together  here,  had  a  little 
fun,  a  fight  or  two,  or  something  like  that, 
founded  a  monastery  for  unmarriageable 
daughters,  —  poor  creatures,  I  pity  'em,  — 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Oh,  I  forgot 
Philip  Augustus;  he  ought  to  be  here  some- 
where or  other.  He  usually  is.  Come,  now, 
don't  talk  to  me  about  history,  because  I 
know  it  all,  my  boy,"  and  Mr.  Blodget  Wil- 
ton gave  the  Frenchman  a  rousing  slap  on 
the  back,  which  made  that  worthy  gentleman 
jump  with  sudden  emotion. 

Nothing  daunted,  Mr.  Wilton  continued 
his  harangue. 

"  How's  that  for  history?  Eh,  count? " 
and  his  Excellency  received  a  vigorous  dig 
in  the  flesh  that  so  generously  covered  his 
ribs.  "  I  guess  you  feel  about  the  same  way 
as  I  do,  don't  you,  count? ".  Mr.  Blodget 
Wilton  was  always  informal,  and  liked  noth- 
ing better  than  breaking  up  any  semblance 

215 


Among  French  Inns 

of  dignity  or  formality  in  others.  At  times, 
it  must  be  said,  he  really  gave  his  wife  con- 
siderable trouble  and  annoyance,  and  very 
often  caused  her  agonies  of  mortification  in 
polite  society. 

One  of  his  habits  on  formal  occasions  was 
to  address  personages  of  importance  by  wrong 
titles,  sometimes  calling  duchesses  by  the 
appellation  "  Mrs.,'*  and  mixing  up  people 
and  names  generally,  to  the  distraction  of  his 
wife  and  the  occasional  offence  of  those  with 
whom  he  conversed.  When  entering  a  draw- 
ing-room of  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  Mrs. 
Wilton  usually  gave  him  some  special  instruc- 
tions, which  he  invariably  forgot  as  soon  as 
occasion  required  that  they  be  followed. 

"  Now  remember  not  to  call  people  by 
their  names  this  evening,"  said  she,  on  one 
remarkable  occasion.  "  You  know  you  always 
get  them  wrong,  and  strangers  do  not  like  it." 
But  we  dare  not  disclose  the  lamentable 
failure  of  Mr.  Wilton  to  comply  with  these 
instructions. 

In  spite  of  his  lack  of  appreciation  of 
Louviers,  the  party  enjoyed  their  visit  there, 
though  without  hearing  much  of  the  history 
of  the  town,  we  fear.  There  is  a  Hotel  du 
Grand  Cerf  there  also;  but  the  party  stopped 

216 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

at  the  Hotel  du  Mouton,  and  found  it  sufB- 
ciently  comfortable  for  their  passing  needs. 

"  All  the  towns  has  a  hotel  called  the 
Great  Boar,"  said  the  count,  pensively. 

"  The  Great  Stag,"  said  the  Englishman, 
correcting  him.  "  I  suppose  the  name  came 
from  the  old  custom  of  stag-hunting,  which 
is  so  prevalent  in  France." 

"  But  we  never  eat  the  stag  in  the  hotel," 
said  the  count,  still  pensively. 

"  Or  the  pig  either,  for  that  matter,"  said  I. 

"Only  in  the  boudin''  said  the  French- 
man. 

"  Is  boudin  that  sort  of  black  sausage  that 
they  sell  by  the  yard  in  the  butcher-shops?" 
asked  Mrs.  Wilton. 

•  "Yes;  you  must  try  some,"  said  the 
Frenchman.  "  It  is  delicious.  I  will  get 
a  piece  to-morrow,  and  we  will  have  it  for 
dinner." 

"  And  I  will  cook  some  spaghetti  a 
ritalien/'  added  the  count,  whose  eyes 
twinkled,  and  whose  mouth  watered  at  the 
thought  of  eating  his  native  dish  once  more, 
in  the  full  glory  of  its  flavours  and  subtle 
attributes. 

"  If  it's  a  success,  count,  I'll  take  the 
receipt   and   put   it   into   my   list  of   canned 

217 


Amofig  French  Inns 

food-stuffs,"  said  Mr.  Wilton.  ''  We'll  work 
it  into  the  trust.  We'll  pay  you  a  royalty  on 
every  can  that  is  sold,  and  you'll  be  a  mil- 
lionaire before  you  know  it." 

''Ah,  there  is  the  fortune,  after  all!"  ex- 
claimed his  Excellency,  in  joy  —  his  wildest 
dreams  of  American  dollars  about  to  be 
realized  at  last. 

"  I  only  hope  we  sha'n't  all  be  poisoned," 
said  Mrs.  Wilton;  and  the  party  proceeded  to 
put  on  their  goggles  and  gossamers  and  start 
northward  to  Pont  de  I'Arche. 

The  road  from  Louviers  is  a  delightful 
one,  and  a  detour  may  be  taken  through  the 
forest,  which  reaches  to  the  ruins  of  the 
Abbaye  de  Bon-Port,  near  the  Seine.  The 
village  is  charmingly  situated  on  the  banks 
of  the  river,  its  unfinished  church,  with 
beautiful  stained-glass  windows,  and  gar- 
goyles extending  from  the  roof  above  them, 
rising  high  above  the  Roman  ruins  which 
surround  the  town.  Over  the  broad  stream 
extends  the  bridge,  with  a  series  of  twenty- 
four  arches,  and  standing  against  it  is  a 
picturesque  house  built  upon  tall  piles. 

The  original  bridge,  of  which  only  the 
foundations  have  remained,  was  built  by 
Charles    le    Chauve,    but   its    chief    portions 

218 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

date  from  the  thirteenth  and  fourteenth  cen- 
turies. Early  in  the  thirteenth  century  John 
Lackland  destroyed  the  fortifications  of  the 
town  and  probably  most  of  the  early  bridge 
also.  It  has  had  numerous  restorations,  and 
is,  in  fact,  one  of  the  most  remarkable  ex- 
amples now  existing  in  France. 

The  village,  which  to-day  contains  less 
than  two  thousand  inhabitants,  has  endured, 
during  its  interesting  history,  some  terrible 
sieges  and  hardships.  It  is,  indeed,  one  of  the 
most  ancient  villages  of  Normandy.  In 
862  Charles  le  Chauve  built  the  first  bridge 
and  castle,  with  fortifications  on  either  side, 
to  arrest  the  invasions  of  the  Normans  and 
their  use  of  the  river  Seine.  It  is  said  that 
so  terrible  was  the  efifect  produced  upon 
the  minds  of  the  inhabitants  of  La  Neustrie 
by  these  inroads,  that  they  inserted  in  their 
litanies  the  famous  supplication,  "  From  the 
Normans  deliver  us,  O  Lord!" 

A  short  walk  along  the  bank  of  the  Seine 
brings  us  to  the  remains  of  the  Abbaye  de 
Bon-Port,  before  mentioned,  which  was 
founded  by  Richard  Cceur  de  Lion,  who 
figured  so  conspicuously  in  Norman  history. 
An  interesting  story  is  told  of  its  foundation. 
The  king,  while  hunting  a  boar  on  the  fourth 

219 


Among  French  Inns 

of  October,  in  the  year  1 190,  near  Maresdans, 
was  nearly  killed  in  his  pursuit  of  the  animal, 
which  had  thrown  itself  into  the  waters  of  the 
river.  His  horse  was  drawn  down  by  the 
current  of  the  stream,  and  the  royal  hunts- 
man might  have  perished  in  the  watery 
chase.  Realizing  his  danger,  he  vowed  that 
he  would  erect  a  monastery  to  the  Virgin 
Mary,  if  he  should  escape. 

He  kept  his  promise,  and  for  centuries  an 
immense  church  stood  near  the  spot,  com- 
memorating the  event.  It  was  destroyed 
toward  the  early  part  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury. The  ruined  walls  of  the  abbey,  half- 
covered  with  ivy,  have  remained  to  tell  of 
its  past  glories,  and  add  another  spectre  to 
the  monastic  life  of  Normandy. 

In  1352  King  John  held  his  council  at  the 
abbey,  and  Charles  le  Mauvais  was  also 
present.  Here,  likewise,  in  later  years,  the 
Cardinal  de  Polignac  composed  the  greater 
portion   of   his    "  Anti-Lucrece." 

The  return  from  Pont  de  I'Arche  to 
Le  Grand  Andely  may  be  made  through  a 
beautiful  stretch  of  country  north  of  the 
Seine,  thus  making  a  complete  circuit  of  this 
delightful  excursion. 

The  following  evening  at  the  inn  was  set 
220 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

aside  as  the  occasion  for  the  feast  of  the 
boudin  and  the  spaghetti.  The  Frenchman 
had  purchased,  during  the  afternoon,  the 
choicest  quality  of  this  stimulating  dish,  well- 
seasoned  with  rich  ingredients  and  spices,  and 
the  count  had  laid  in  a  store  of  spaghetti  that 
would  have  sent  joy  to  the  heart  of  any  Ital- 
ian, were  he  prince  or  peasant. 

At  the  appointed  time  the  table  was  set, 
and  the  boudin  placed  in  the  hands  of  the 
cook.  Then  it  was  that  the  Count  Romeo  di 
Pomponi,  attended  by  the  faithful  Dante 
Galante,  descended  in  all  his  glory  into  the 
kitchen  of  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf  to  pre- 
pare and  cook  the  spaghetti.  To  those  wait- 
ing above,  it  seemed  a  wondrous  time  that  it 
took  to  prepare  the  savoury  and  succulent 
dish. 

Odours  were  wafted  from  the  region  of  the 
culinary  department,  and  brought  tidings  of 
the  strenuous  labours  that  were  in  progress. 
Once  the  Englishman  went  to  the  door  with 
the  Frenchman  to  reconnoitre,  and  returned, 
bearing  news  of  great  doings  in  the  kitchen. 
A  curious  sizzling  sound  was  reported  to 
have  issued  from  the  mysterious  depths  of 
the  stove,   as  the  boudin   and   the  spaghetti 


221 


Among  French  Inns 

fought  for  the  upper  hand.  It  was  a  battle 
royal  as  to  which  should  be  ready  the  first. 

A  little  later  Dante  Galante  came  dashing 
into  the  presence  of  the  expectant  company 
in  search  of  a  fan,  and  reported  the  count  to 
be  very  red  in  the  face,  and  evidently  much 
overheated. 

"Ah,  he  will  have  an  apoplexy;  I  knew 
it,"  exclaimed  the  Frenchman,  ever  ready  to 
cry  "wolf." 

"  You  never  will  be  satisfied  until  that  poor 
man  has  a  stroke,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton  at  last. 
"  I  declare,  you  are  always  making  me  think 
he  is  going  to  have  a  fit." 

"  But  think  of  the  heat,  madame,"  urged 
the  Frenchman,  nothing  daunted.  He  was 
waiting  for  the  triumphant  moment  when  he 
could  say,  "  I  told  you  so,"  and  see  the  poor 
count  stretched  out  on  the  floor,  all  overcome 
and  foaming  at  the  mouth. 

By  and  by  the  savoury  odours  of  the  steam- 
ing viands  emanating  from  the  centre  of  ac- 
tivity gave  notice  that  the  feast  was  prepared 
and  the  dishes  ready  to  be  served.  The  com- 
pany sat  down,  and  the  count  appeared  from 
the  kitchen,  his  face  aglow  with  triumph 
and  exhilaration.    The  boudin  was  served. 

"What  a  curious-looking  dish,"  said  Mrs. 

222 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

Wilton.     ^'  They  look  as  if  they  were  alive. 
I  don't  know  that  I  quite  like  to  touch  them." 

The  count  was  well  pleased  at  this,  for  it 
boded  well  for  the  success  of  the  spaghetti. 

"  It  is  only  cut  in  different  pieces,"  ex- 
plained the  Frenchman.  "  Dieu,  how  good 
it  is!    Dieu,  que  c^est  bonf  ^^ 

"  Yes,  that  certainly  is  savoury,"  said  Mr. 
Wilton,  evidently  enjoying  the  dish.  *'  What 
do  you  think  of  it.  Marietta?" 

"  It  really  is  quite  good,"  replied  Mrs. 
Wilton,  "  if  it  only  did  not  look  so  peculiar." 

The  count's  face  fell  during  this  conver- 
sation, and  his  soul  was  consumed  with  jeal- 
ousy, after  his  labours  with  the  spaghetti. 
At  this  portentous  moment  entered  Dante 
Galante,  bearing  aloft  the  mighty  dish  pre- 
pared by  the  master.  In  just  pride  he  intro- 
duced it  to  the  company,  and  then  handed  it 
around. 

"  Oh,  what  a  wonderful  dish,"  said  Miss 
Wilton. 

"  You  certainly  have  worked  hard,"  added 
the  Englishman. 

"  How  do  you  get  it  out? "  cried  Mrs. 
Wilton,  struggling  with  the  long  pieces  of 
spaghetti  that  dangled  from  her  fork  and  re- 
fused to  part  from  their  companions. 

223 


Among  French  Inns 

"  Ah,  you  must  take,  so,"  explained  the 
gallant  Romeo,  landing  an  immense  quantity 
on  Mrs.  Wilton's  plate  with  great  dexter- 
ity. 

"  This  is  the  way  we  eatey  the  spaghetti 
in  the  Italy,''  he  added,  twisting  a  huge 
quantity  of  the  stringy  substance  around 
his  fork  and  devouring  the  whole  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye. 

"Oh,  I  don't  see  how  you  do  it!"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Wilton,  trying  unsuccessfully 
to  do  likewise.  "  It  is  most  unmanageable.  I 
must  cut  mine  up."  So  saying,  Mrs.  Wilton 
proceeded  to  eat  her  spaghetti  ''a  I'Ameri- 


caine. 


Dieu,  que  c'est  bonf ''  grunted  the  count, 
enjoying  the  success  of  his  venture.  AH 
laughed  and  ate  and  were  gay,  all  but  the 
Frenchman,  who  sat  on  the  wrong  side  of 
Mrs.  Blodget  Wilton;  and  his  eyes  flashed 
spite  and  ire  lest  the  cuisine  of  Italy  should 
overshadow  that  of  France. 

The  count,  on  perceiving  his  expression, 
was  really  confused  and  alarmed.  He  began 
muttering  and  gobbling  his  food  in  such  an 
immoderate  fashion  that  the  Frenchman 
soon  had  the  best  of  the  evening^,  with  innu- 
merable sharp  thrusts  at  the  gallant  Romeo, 

224 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

which  ended  by  nearly  routing  that  nobleman 
altogether. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  count,"  said  Mr.  Wilton, 
who  had  been  studying  the  ingredients  of  the 
spaghetti  in  a  businesslike  manner,  "  I  think 
this  stuff  might  be  made  into  a  pretty  good 
thing  and  put  on  the  market.  I'll  make  you 
a  proposition  on  it  to-morrow,  if  you  like." 

^'  Oh,  in  the  pleasure,  in  the  pleasure," 
exclaimed  his  Excellency,  all  smiles  and 
affability  at  the  idea.  This  was  really  too 
good  to  be  true.  The  thought  that  his 
beloved  dish  should  be  the  means  of  building 
up  the  fortunes  of  his  ancient  but  decaying 
house  was  to  him  both  joyful  and  unexpected. 

But  the  Frenchman  sat  silent,  meditating 
an  attack  on  his  rival  if  the  time  were  pro- 
pitious, and  unless  he  should  meanwhile  re- 
ceive some  soothing  attention  from  his 
hostess.  This  Mrs.  Wilton,  being  quick- 
witted and  equal  to  an  emergency,  proceeded 
to  bestow,  and  the  evening  wore  away,  and 
finally  ended  without  any  serious  mishap  to 
either  Monsieur  de  B or  the  count. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Wilton  was  discov- 
ered with  a  broad  smile  on  his  face,  and  his 
whole  countenance  expressive  of  amusement 
and  mirth. 

225 


Among  French  Inns 

"  The  old  count  certainly  is  a  good  joke," 
said  he.  ^'  What  do  you  think  happened  to 
him  last  night?  " 

"We  can't  imagine;  do  tell  us,"  echoed  a 
chorus  of  voices. 

"  Why,  he  had  i.  nightmare.  I  suppose  it 
was  the  combination  of  spaghetti  and  wine, 
and  that  sausage.  At  all  events,  he  dreamt 
that  the  Frenchman  threw  all  his  spaghetti 
in  his  face.  Just  think  of  that,  Mr.  de 
B ."  And  Mr.  Blodget  Wilton  ex- 
ploded in  one  of  his  most  boisterous  fits  of 
merriment,  while  the  rest  of  the  party  had 
another  good  laugh   at  the  count's  expense. 

It  was  perfectly  true.  The  count  had  had 
a  very  bad  dream,  and  so  impressed  had  he 
been  with  the  jealous  vexation  of  the  French- 
man that  his  visions  took  this  form.  He 
confided  to  Mrs.  Wilton,  later  in  the  day,  the 
horrors  of  his  sleeping  hours. 

"Imagine!      I    dreamt   that   Monsieur   de 

B threw  all  the  spaghetti  in  the  face," 

and  his  Excellency  made  a  graphic  gesture 
as  he  described  it. 

The  following  day  the  party  took  the  train 
by  way  of  Rouen,  and  visited  Dieppe  and 
some  places  in  the  neighbourhood,  among 
them  the  famous  Chateau  d'Eu,  which  has 

226 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

been  for  centuries  the  abode  of  the  royal 
family  of  France.  The  chateau  is  a  noble 
and  symmetrical  pile,  with  two  dependencies 
that  form  a  court,  enclosed  by  the  familiar 
iron  railing  used  in  the  royal  residences  of 
France,  painted  black,  and  its  points  tipped 
with  gold. 

In  front  of  it  rises  a  large  church  of  rather 
ungainly  proportions,  though  with  elaborate 
ornamentation.  It  fills  the  greater  portion 
of  the  space  in  front  of  the  chateau,  and  faces 
its  court  and  fagade,  as  if  to  remind  its 
owners  of  their  duty  to  religious  service  in 
perpetuity. 

The  chateau,  with  its  associations  and  his- 
tory, is  the  chief  interest  of  the  town,  and 
has  dominated  its  life  and  actions  completely. 
It  is  now  the  residence  of  the  Orleans  family, 
and  is  usually  occupied  by  the  Comtesse  de 
Paris. 

The  Comte  d'Eu,  which  has  been  a  royal 
title  since  the  domain  was  created  by  Richard 
II.,  and  conferred  upon  his  natural  brother 
Geoffroy,  has  been  in  turn  the  possession  of 
the  houses  of  Lusignan,  Artois,  Bourgogne, 
Lorraine,  Orleans,  Penthievre,  and  others 
no  less  familiar  to  history.  The  title  of 
Comtesse  d'Eu  was  borne  by  the  widow  of 

227 


Among  French  Inns 

Henry  I.  de  Guise,  by  Catherine  de  Cleves, 
and  by  Louise  de  Montpensier,  — "  La 
Grande  Mademoiselle,"  whose  final  mar- 
riage to  Lauzun  was  so  sad  a  romance  of 
royal  history. 

It  was  the  famous  Duchesse  de  Maine,  a 
bearer  of  the  title,  who,  after  her  many  flirta- 
tions, addressed  to  her  husband  this  flatter- 
ing remark:  "There  has  remained  for  me, 
then,  only  the  mortification  of  having  mar- 
ried you/' 

Many  are  the  thoughts  of  historic  person- 
ages figuring  in  the  old  court  life  of  France; 
many  are  the  literary  remembrances  and  the 
contributions  to  the  belles-lettres  of  biogra- 
phy and  reminiscence  that  arise  to  the  mind 
as  we  gaze  upon  the  fair  outlines  of  the  Cha- 
teau d'Eu.  Upon  its  brilliant  walls  the  sun 
spreads  its  light,  illuminating  its  ornaments 
and  chasing  despondency  from  its  shadows. 
It  has  shone  upon  its  glories  in  the  past,  and 
lights  the  hopes  and  progress  of  its  future. 

In  the  vicinity  of  Dieppe,  also,  are  the 
beautiful  ruins  of  the  Chateau  d'Arques,  now 
little  more  than  the  crumbling  remains  of  a 
feudal  fortress  rising  upon  the  crest  of  a 
hill  like  an  efligy  of  its  former  power.  They 
speak  in  silent  eloquence  of  the  days  of  Will- 

228 


At  the  Hotel  dii  Grand  Cerf 

iam  the  Conqueror,  in  whose  reign  it  was 
built,  and  of  the  ancient  Comte  d'Arques, 
which  William  conferred  upon  his  uncle 
to  satisfy  his  pretensions  to  the  ducal  throne. 
The  little  bourg  beneath  was  once  the  capital 
of  the  original  Pays  de  Talon,  one  of  the 
early  divisions  of  this  part  of  Normandy. 

The  way  from  Dieppe  to  D'Arques  is  a 
charming  one,  leading  through  the  Vallee 
d'Eaulne,  the  villages  of  Martin-Eglise  and 
Ancourt,  the  forest  of  Arques,  and  finally 
Archelles,  or  Le  Petit  Arques.  Each  of 
these  is  pleasing  and  interesting  to  pass 
through,  and  makes  an  agreeable  excursion 
on  a  summer's  day.  Leading,  as  they  do,  to 
the  noble  Chateau  d'Arques,  they  form  a 
sequence  at  once  genial  and  inspiring. 

Mr.  Wilton  was  well  pleased  with  his 
visit  to  this  place.  He  preferred  to  travel 
by  railway  or  behind  a  horse,  and  this  ex- 
cursion being  free  from  automobiles,  the  day 
a  fair  one,  —  and  the  stock-market  in  New 
York  in  good  condition,  —  he  was  disposed  to 
enjoy  himself. 

"Well,  you  dear  girl,"  said  he  to  his 
daughter,  "  give  your  old  father  a  kiss,  and 
tell  him  how  much  you  love  him;  on  the 
nose,   please;    my  cheek  is   so  hot."     Miss 

229 


Among  French  Inns 

Gladys  accordingly  kissed  her  father's  nose 
dutifully  and  charmingly. 

"  Oh,  mia  madre,  if  the  kiss  had  only  been 
for  me!  "  sighed  the  lovelorn  Romeo  to  him- 
self, his  bosom  heaving  with  the  deep  love 
that  lay  beneath  it. 

*'  Ah,  del!  if  it  had  been  for  me!  "  thought 
the  Frenchman,  as  he  beheld  the  charming 
act  on  the  part  of  the  daughter.  But  the 
Englishman  said  nothing  either  to  himself 
or  to  any  one  else,  and  no  one  could  have  told 
by  the  immovable  expression  of  his  face  what 
his  ideas  might  be  on  the  subject  of  the  kiss, 
though  Mrs.  Blodget  Wilton  watched  him 
narrowly  all  the  while,  and  observed  with- 
out difficulty  what  was  going  on  in  the  minds 
of  the  two  Continentals  standing  opposite. 

"  Ah,  now,  that  is  the  real  charming  loave 
for  the  father,"  said  the  count  to  Miss  Wil- 
ton, as  she  emerged  smiling  from  the  paternal 
embrace. 

"You're  a  dear,  good  girl,  aren't  vou, 
Gladys?"  said  her  father,  beaming  with 
fondness.  "  And  you  love  your  old  daddy, 
don't  you?  Even  though  he  doesn't  see  you 
any  too  often." 

"  Oh,  yes,  papa,  I  do,  indeed,"  said 
Gladys,  and  she  gave  him  another  kiss,  this 

230 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

time  on  the  top  of  his  weather-beaten  fore- 
head. 

''  Now,  James,  I  think  you  might  get  those 
'  cockers,'  and  we  can  go  on  to  that  other 
place  you  wanted  to  see,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton, 
in  her  most  practical  fashion.  "  Let  me  see, 
what  was  the  name  of  it?  " 

''  The  Manoir  d'Ango,  at  Varengeville,'^ 
said  the  Frenchman,  very  precisely. 

"Yes,  that  was  it,"  returned  Mrs.  Wilton. 
"  I  knew  it  sounded  something  like  *  argot,' 
but  I  could  not  remember.  Come,  James, 
do  hurry.  What  are  you  picking  there?  I 
declare,  I  hope  it  isn't  any  kind  of  a  cactus. 
Mr.  Wilton  is  always  stopping  to  pick  some- 
thing," she  added  to  the  count,  who  was  cool- 
ing himself  with  a  palm-leaf  fan,  and 
indulging  in  a  cigar. 

And  so  the  party  set  forth  for  Varengeville, 
and  visited  the  old  Manoir  d'Ango,  which 
is  a  delightful  and  picturesque  place,  typical 
of  Normandy  and  its  characteristics.  The 
manoir  is  to  be  found  here  as  in  no  other 
province  of  France,  and  is  essentially  in- 
digenous to  the  soil  and  associated  with 
Norman  ideas.  It  is  not  a  chateau,  and  yet 
not  an  ordinary  house.  The  manoirs  of 
Normandy  are  usually  constructed  of  brick 

231 


Among  French  Inns 

and  stone,  with  tiled  roofs,  and  are  sometimes 
composed  of  beams  and  plaster.  They  are 
set  in  picturesque  and  domestic  surroundings, 
and  more  frequently  nestle  among  trees  and 
farm  buildings  instead  of  standing  boldly 
against  the  rocks  and  precipices  that  charac- 
terize the  sites  of  the  feudal  fortresses  and 
castles. 

The  Manoir  d'Ango  is  one  possessing  these 
characteristics.  It  is  a  picturesque  collec- 
tion of  buildings  grouped  around  a  court,  and 
dressed  in  almost  rural  attire.  A  large,  round 
tower  with  a  domed  roof  stands  in  the  centre, 
curiously  decorated  with  a  sort  of  network 
of  ornament.  Above  it  pigeons  and  other 
birds  hover  and  find  shelter. 

"  This  is  a  charming  place,"  said  Miss 
Wilton  and  the  Englishman,  almost  in  the 
same  breath;  but  they  were  hardly  able  to 
do  more  than  make  a  cursory  visit  to  the 
place  before  they  were  bustled  away  by 
Mrs.  Wilton,  who  had  always  an  eye  to  the 
time  and  the  next  place  to  be  visited. 

That  night  was  spent  at  the  Hotel  Royal 
at  Dieppe,  facing  the  shore.  The  view  of 
the  sea  again  in  the  morning  was  pleasant, 
after  the  days  spent  in  the  country.  By  the 
next   afternoon    the   whole    party   was    once 

232 


m  » i  ^  * « ♦  ■ 

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^^S^B^S^E^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^B^^^  • 

Tv^MM^ 

*  V©  k.  -' 

lii  i. ' 

;  1   : 

54^1    1!  1  - 

i^-mA>i 

pCS"""""*'"^  ■  '"■''^P^^^"'^'^^^B||; 

^             '           1 

^^J^^g 

DIEPPE   CATHEDRAL 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

more  at  the  inn  at  Le  Grand  Andely,  plan- 
ning an  excursion  to  Evreux  the  following 
day.  So  well  pleased  was  Mr.  Blodget  Wil- 
ton with  this  little  visit  to  Dieppe  and  its 
surroundings,  that  he  decided  to  risk  a  ride 
in  the  automobile  to  the  capital  of  Eure  and 
a  chateau  in  the  neighbourhood. 

They  set  forth  early  and  with  every  antici- 
pation of  joy,  in  the  full  glory  of  a  summer's 
morning  and  the  sweet  fragrance  of  the 
odours  wafted  from  hedge  and  tree  by  the 
soft  airs  that  play  against  the  face.  Miss 
Wilton  was  radiantly  beautiful.  Her  eyes 
sparkled  with  merriment,  and  the  count  was 
unable  in  any  way  to  disguise  his  admiration 
for  her,  while  as  for  the  others  perhaps  the 
least  said  the  better.  Yet  with  what  magic 
does  the  hand  of  Cupid  play  mischief  with 
the  hearts  of  men,  and  hold  them  captive 
when  they  least  expect  it!  Happy  magic! 
Joyous  state!  With  all  the  sorrows  born 
upon  its  train: 

*♦  *Tis  better  to  have  loved  and  lost 
Than  never  to  have  loved  at  all." 

The  road  from  the  Seine  to  Evreux  is  a  de- 
lightful one  to  pass  over,  leading  through 
the  heart  of  Norman  beauty  and  its  rustic 

233 


Among  French  Inns 

enchantment,  making  every  visitor  a  votary 
of  its  charm.  Evreux  itself  is  an  ancient 
cathedral  town,  as  well  as  being  the  capital 
of  the  Department,  and  has  much  that  is 
interesting  in  it.  The  ancient  Comte 
d'Evreux  was  one  of  the  royal  possessions 
of  the  Dukes  of  Normandy.  The  first  Comte 
d'Evreux  was  Robert,  Archbishop  of  Rouen, 
and  second  son  of  Richard  I.,  Duke  of  Nor- 
mandy. 

The  cathedral  is  a  beautiful  piece  of  archi- 
tecture, dating  chiefly  from  the  sixteenth 
century.  Its  delicate  carvings  and  lace- 
work  are  mostly  Gothic,  though  the  towers 
show  the  influence  of  the  Renaissance. 
The  streets  are  more  often  tortuous  and 
picturesque,  lined  by  ancient  timbered  houses 
and  quaint  corners,  bearing  evidences  of 
ancient  France.  The  clock-tower,  known 
as  the  Befifroi  d'Evreux,  presents  a  delight- 
ful view  at  the  end  of  one  of  these  quaint 
and  time-worn  streets,  its  simple  Norman 
lines  being  in  severe  contrast  to  the  more 
delicate  magnificence  of  the  cathedral. 

Much  history  and  many  of  the  great  names 
of  Normandy  are  associated  with  Evreux, 
but  our  space  forbids  more  than  a  passing 
word,  a  look,  a  glance,  at  what  there  is;   and 

234 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

then  away  once  more  into  the  heart  of  the 
country,  to  the  lovely  valley  of  the  river 
Iton,  flowing  through  the  Arrondissement 
d'Evreux. 

Here  the  objective  point  was  the  Chateau 
de  Conde-sur-Iton,  an  ancient  summer  resi- 
dence of  the  Bishops  of  Evreux,  situated 
upon  the  very  banks  of  the  river.  Its  design 
suggests,  in  its  high  castellated  walls  and 
towers,  the  character  of  some  of  the  Scotch 
castles,  and  may  well  have  inspired  some 
of  the  architects  who  built  them.  It  is,  like 
every  Norman  dwelling,  surrounded  by  pic- 
turesque additions  of  trees  and  green,  soften- 
ing its  harsher  outlines  and  blending  the 
colder  walls  and  expanses  of  stone  with  the 
landscape. 

The  great  round  tower  near  the  river  must 
have  served  in  ancient  times  as  a  place  of 
watch  for  the  protectors  of  the  bishops  during 
their  holiday  retreat  in  this  pleasing  abode. 

Mrs.  Wilton  liked  the  chateau,  and  was 
inclined  to  investigate  it  within  and  without, 
and  to  wander  through  the  park  and  grounds, 
which  invited  further  visits  to  their  hidden 
mysteries.  A  delightful  afternoon  was  spent, 
therefore,  in  wandering  about  this  charming 


235 


Among  French  Inns 

spot  and  absorbing  something  of  its  quality 
and  atmosphere. 

The  village  of  Conde,  though  containing 
little  more  than  one  thousand  souls,  is  one 
of  extreme  antiquity,  and  boasts  an  age 
greater  than  any  of  its  neighbours.  It  dates, 
in  fact,  to  the  time  of  the  Romans,  and  was, 
according  to  the  best  authorities,  mentioned 
under  the  name  of  Condate  in  the  itinerary 
of  Antonine.  Conde  is  close  to  Breteuil,  and 
from  there  an  interesting  trip  may  be  made 
to  the  Chateau  of  Beaumesnil,  situated  mid- 
way between  Conches  and  Bernay,  one  of 
the  towns  of  the  Department  of  Eure.  In 
this  arrondissement  are  also  the  Chateau  de 
Thevray,  and  farther  to  the  northeast  the 
ruins  of  Beaumont-le-Roger. 

Still  farther  to  the  north,  and  near  Brionne, 
is  the  Chateau  d'Harcourt,  the  ancient  relic 
of  one  of  the  great  houses  of  France,  a  name 
that  has  rung  in  the  annals  of  its  history, 
and  is  synonymous  with  its  valour  and 
esteem.  This  is  a  delightful  part  of  Nor- 
mandy in  which  to  wander,  visiting  the 
picturesque  monuments  that  so  generously 
furnish  the  country  with  historic  interest,  and 
stopping  at  the  simple,  primitive  places  that 
offer  hospitality  to  the  pilgrim. 

236 


At  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf 

The  road  from  Conde  to  Beaumesnil  may 
be  taken  through  one  of  those  beautiful 
forests  that  cover  France  with  a  constant 
series  of  fairylike  enchantments,  bringing  to 
the  mind  of  the  poet  the  scenes  of  a  ^'  Mid- 
summer Night's  Dream,"  and  peopling  their 
shady  mysteries  with  winged  forms  and 
dancing  elves  that  charm  the  senses  into 
dreamland. 

The  Chateau  de  Beaumesnil  itself  is  a 
high  symmetrical  construction  of  pink  brick 
and  white  stone,  rising  gracefully  from  a 
broad  moat  and  approached  by  a  draw- 
bridge. Its  heavy  window-caps  and  impos- 
ing decorations  would  suggest  a  town 
residence  rather  than  a  chateau.  It  is,  how- 
ever, effective  and  interesting  to  look  at 
across  the  expanse  of  glasslike  water  that 
mirrors  its  outlines  in  shadowy  semblance  of 
itself,  a  veritable  palace  rising  out  of  its 
watery  reflection  and  surrounded  by  its  park. 

The  place  was  built  in  the  reign  of  Henry 
IV.  by  the  Seigneur  of  Beaumesnil,  whose 
house,  during  the  twelfth  century,  was  con- 
nected by  marriage  with  that  of  Harcourt. 
Beaumesnil  was  originally  a  part  of  the 
famous  domain  of  Beaumont-le-Roger,  whose 
history  is  so  associated  with  the  events  of  this 

237 


Among  French  Inns 

part  of  Normandy  that  it  must  ever  possess 
an  interest  to  the  antiquarian. 

Still  another  place  deserves  our  mention 
in  this  region  —  the  ruins  of  the  Abbaye  du 
Bee,  near  Brionne.  They  are  an  equal  dis- 
tance on  the  north  to  the  Chateau  d'Har- 
court  on  the  south,  from  Beaumesnil,  and 
well  merit  a  visit.  The  great  tower  of  the 
castle  rises  out  of  a  cluster  of  small  houses 
and  rears  its  lofty  buttresses  above  them 
toward  the  heavens,  its  belfry  windows  show- 
ing the  evening  light  that  already  fills  the 
sky  and  calls  the  weary  pilgrim  home  to  rest 
and  sleep. 


238 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WITH  THE  DUCHESS  AT  TROUVILLE 

Bernay  is  a  picturesque  old  town  in  spite 
of  its  manufactures,  of  which  it  boasts  a  num- 
ber, and  has  many  timbered  houses  and 
quaint  bits  of  architecture,  besides  a  charm- 
ing tower  which  stands  in  the  centre  of  the 
picture.  We  were  fortunate  in  having  a  view 
of  the  Procession  de  la  Fete  Dieu  at  Bernay, 
one  of  the  great  religious  festivals  of  rural 
France. 

From  Bernay  to  Lisieux  is  only  a  short 
ride  on  the  railway  line,  running  from  Paris 
to  Caen  and  Cherbourg,  and  the  party  set 
out  for  this  town  on  their  way  to  visit  the 
duchess  at  Trouville.  Earlier  in  the  week 
a  cordial  invitation,  skilfully  engineered  by 
Mrs.  Wilton,  had  been  received  by  the 
latter  for  the  entire  party,  and  had  been 
promptly  accepted,  even  to  the  unwilling 
inclusion   of   Mr.    Blodget  Wilton   himself, 

239 


Among  French  Inns 

who  had  tried  to  beg  off  from  going,  but  had 
not  been  excused  by  his  wife. 

On  arriving  at  Lisieux  he  became  almost 
petulant,  and  Mrs.  Wilton,  being  fearful 
lest  he  slip  through  her  fingers  after  all,  as 
he  had  been  known  to  do  on  previous  occa- 
sions, decided  to  hurry  forward  to  Trou- 
ville.  A  branch  line  runs  through  Pont 
I'Eveque  and  Honfleur,  and  the  party  were 
soon  seated  in  a  special  carriage,  with  the 
servants  and  dressing-cases  in  an  adjoining 
one;  and,  after  a  pleasant  trip,  during  which 
Mr.  Wilton  was  kept  continually  pleased 
and  amused,  the  station  of  Trouville  was 
reached. 

Servants  of  the  ducal  establishment  met  our 
party  at  the  ''  gare  '*  and  escorted  us  to  equi- 
pages in  waiting  outside.  We  were  soon 
driven  to  the  delightful  villa  of  the  duchess, 
situated  in  exquisite  grounds  a  little  inland 
from  the  beach  and  the  town.  The  villa 
itself  was  a  modern  structure,  large  and 
commodious  in  aspect,  and  surrounded  by 
gardens  filled  with  rare  flowering  plants 
arranged  in  tasteful  profusion. 

Indeed,  though  Trouville  has  little  that 
IS  historically  or  architecturally  important, 
it  has  much  that  is  pleasing  and  attractive  to 

240 


.»    >       » 


CHURCH    OF    NOTRE    DAME,    TROUVILLE 


With  the  Duchess  at  Trouville 

the  eye.  It  is  a  town  of  villas,  chiefly 
modern  and  used  only  in  summer.  Facing 
the  beach  are  the  rows  of  restaurants, 
cafes,  and  other  establishments  that  are 
always  to  be  found  at  a  French  watering- 
place. 

The  twin  town,  Deauville,  is  separated 
from  Trouville  by  the  Touques.  Three  kilo- 
metres distant  is  Touques  itself,  where  Will- 
iam Rufus  set  out  for  England  after  the 
death  of  the  Conqueror  at  Rouen.  Here 
there  is  a  charming  old  Manoir  de  Meautrix, 
built  in  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  cen- 
turies. The  ruins  of  the  ancient  fortress  of 
Bonneville-sur-Touques  arise  upon  the  banks 
of  the  river.  It  dates  from  the  early  thir- 
teenth century,  and  has  five  round  towers  re- 
maining from  the  days  of  William  the  Con- 
queror, who  used  it  as  a  favourite  residence. 
In  the  Tour  du  Serment  we  are  told  he 
received  the  oath  of  allegiance  from  Harold, 
though  it  is  not  certain  this  was  the  actual 
place.  The  tower  is  an  interesting  spot  his- 
torically, lighted  by  a  window  known  as 
the  Fenetre  de  la  Reine  Mathilde,  presum- 
ably on  account  of  its  association  with  the 
wife  of  William  the  Conqueror. 

There  are  three  hotels  in  Trouville  which 
241 


Among  French  Inns 

it  may  be  well  to  mention  for  those  travellers 
who  do  not  chance  to  know  the  Duchesse  de 

V and  the  pleasure  of  her  hospitality. 

They  are  the  Hotels  des  Roches  Noires,  the 
De  Bellevue,  and  the  De  Paris.  Their  repre- 
sentatives meet  the  visitor  at  the  station  with 
the  familiar  hotel  omnibus  of  the  Continent 
and  urge  him  to  accompany  them  to  their 
respective  establishments. 

In  the  Rue  des  Rosiers  there  is  an  interest- 
ing house,  No.  5.  It  was  here  that  Louis 
Philippe  stayed  over  night  at  the  time  he  fled 
from  France.  What  country,  within  the  more 
recent  periods  of  history,  has  had  so  many 
rulers  and  pretenders  to  its  throne  as  fugi- 
tives from  the  anger  of  its  people  or  exiled 
from  its  borders?  It  would  seem  that  since 
the  Revolution,  history  has  seen  a  succession 
of  royalty  divested  of  or  prevented  from 
assuming  its  rights. 

But  we  digress  from  our  narrative. 

It  being  the  month  of  August,  everything 
was  in  the  full  dress  of  the  season's  gaieties, 
at  this  gayest  of  French  seaside  resorts. 
Mrs.  and  Miss  Wilton's  most  wonderful 
costumes  were  packed  in  the  trunks  which 
accompanied  them,  and  Mrs.  Wilton's  most 
gorgeous  jewels  were  enclosed  in  the  dressing- 

242 


With  the  Duchess  at  Trouville 

case  which  was  jealously  guarded  by  the 
valet  and  maid.  Even  Mr.  Wilton  was  made 
to  spruce  himself  up  to  an  unusual  extent,  and 
as  for  the  count  and  the  Frenchman,  we  may 
leave  their  costumes  to  the  wildest  imagina- 
tion of  our  readers.  The  Englishman  was 
always  well  clad,  and  made  no  special  dif- 
ference in  his  dress  for  the  occasion. 

The  duchess  received  her  guests  with  much 
grace  and  affability,  and  tea  was  immediately 
served  by  a  number  of  servants  in  livery  on  a 
fairylike  terrace  overlooking  the  gardens 
and  a  distant  view  of  the  sea.  All  the  taste 
and  refinement  of  luxury,  which  are  the 
accompaniments  of  the  great  houses  of  France 
to-day,  lacking  often  their  old  political  im- 
portance but  still  holding  their  positions  in 
the  world  of  society,  were  in  evidence. 

In  these  surroundings  Mrs.  Blodget  Wilton 
positively  reyelled,  and  drank  in  the  sweet 
perfume  of  their  atmosphere  with  enjoyment 
made  more  delicious  by  her  long  absence 
from  them  in  America.  Oh,  the  joy  that 
comes  to  womanhood  with  the  attainment 
of  such  goals  of  her  ambition,  the  balm  that 
soothes  her  spirit  after  the  labour  and  the 
warfare! 

.  To  strive,  to  conquer,  and  achieve. 
243 


Among  French  Inns 

Who  would  deny  Mrs.  Blodget  Wilton  the 
motto  of  her  existence,  or  the  flush  of  happi- 
ness accompanying  its  accomplishment?  Who 
would  be  so  heartless  or  so  bold  as  to  question 
her  right  of  eminent  domain  in  these  regions 
of  the  gods,  won  by  her  own  labours  and 
strengthened  by  American  dollars?  She 
played  her  part.  She  paved  her  way  with 
gold;  gold,  the  glittering,  the  alluring 
medium  of  exchange  for  all  mankind. 
Europe  loves  gold,  and  Europeans  love  its 
results,  as  well  as  other  peoples  of  other 
climes.  Who  shall  chide  them  for  it,  in  the 
face  of  every-day  existence  in  America? 
Mrs.  Blodget  Wilton  knew  all  this  —  knew 
the  hearts  of  men  and  women  of  two  conti- 
nents, catered  to  their  wants,  and  succeeded 
in  her  campaign  of  enjoyment. 

Mr.  Blodget  Wilton,  on  the  contrary, 
cared  not  so  much  as  a  fig  for^all  this  non- 
sense. He  conducted  his  life  on  strictly 
business  lines,  and  had  never  taken  the  time 
to  expand  his  interests  to  other  spheres. 
Pork  and  lard  were  the  shrines  at  which 
he  worshipped.  His  cohorts  were  wagons, 
workmen,  and  live  stock.  Their  activities 
were  in  the  slaughter-house  and  the  stock- 
yard   rather    than    in     drawing-rooms    and 

244 


With  the  Duchess  at  Trouville 

casinos.  The  click  of  the  typewriter  and 
the  stock-exchange  ticker  were  music  to  his 
ears  —  more  satisfying  than  the  melodies  of 
Verdi  or  the  harmonies  of  Wagner.  His 
battles  were  fought  in  Wall  Street,  not  Fifth 
Avenue,  and  his  triumphs  were  in  the  field 
of  finance  rather  than  in  society.  Who  shall 
deny  him  his  glory,  or  his  title  to  esteem? 
Surely  not  so  humble  a  pen  as  that  which 
traces  this  passing  history  of  his  exploits. 

"  Be  seated  on  the  sofa;  let's  take  it  easy; 
it's  warm,"  said  he  to  the  duchess,  while 
eating  a  delicate  piece  of  sponge-cake.  ^^  My 
wife  looks  well,  don't  she?  You  have  to 
speak  distinctly,  though;  she's  a  bit  hard  of 
hearing.  Grows  on  her,"  he  added,  almost 
whispering  in  the  duchess's  ear,  for  fear  lest 
his  wife  should  know  what  he  was  saying; 
for  he  realized  the  truth  of  the  maxim,  that 
when  occasion  least  suspects,  there  are  none 
so  long-eared  as  the  deaf. 

"  Madame  Wilton  is  looking  very  well," 
said  the  duchess,  a  little  taken  aback  by  this 
sortie,  though  she  had  had  some  previous 
experience  of  Mr.  Wilton's  peculiar  manners. 

"  Your  daughter  has  grown  prettier  than 
ever,"  she  added  with  meaning,  for  the 
Frenchman  had  written  to  her  before  their 

245 


Among  French  Inns 

arrival,  and  she  was  already  aware  which 
way  the  wind  was  blowing. 

In  a  few  moments  the  ladies  Wilton  retired 
to  their  rooms,  and  the  duchess  was  left 
alone  with  the  Frenchman. 

"  Well,  mon  ami,  so  you  love  Miss  Wil- 
ton," said  she,  without  any  further  prelude. 
"  I  saw,  without  any  difficulty,  from  your 
letter  what  you  were  thinking  of.  You  never 
could  conceal  anything,  you  know." 

"  Oh,  duchess,  I  am  fou  d' amour,  fou,  fou, 
fou!  "  exclaimed  the  Frenchman.  "  But  they 
are  so  hard  to  please,  these  Americans.  One 
never  knows  what  they  feel,  whether  they 
love  or  not.  Ah,  it  is  different  in  America 
from  la  France.  There  we  have  to  do  all 
the  asking,  and  the  parents  do  nothing.  They 
marry  with  or  without  dots,  just  as  they  feel 
inclined.    It  is  most  perplexing." 

"  But  surely  Monsieur  Wilton  will  give 
his  daughter  a  dot''  said  the  duchess.  "  That 
I  know  very  well.  He  has  no  other  chil- 
dren." 

The  duchess  was  the  greatest  match-maker 
in  France,  and  knew  all  the  fine  points  of  the 
game.  It  was  even  hinted  that  she  had  been 
the  cause  of  more  marriages  than  any  other 
woman  in  Europe.     She  did  not  care  a  pin 

246 


With  the  Duchess  at  Trouville 

whether  they  turned  out  well  or  not,  so  long 
as  they  were  advantageous  from  a  worldly 
point  of  view;  for  the  pleasure  of  making 
a  match  was  sufficient  excitement  in  itself, 
and  she  did  not  hesitate  to  launch  her  pro- 
teges upon  the  sea  of  matrimony  without  the 
necessary  time  to  think  the  matter  over. 

"  Do  they  like  one  another?  "  she  said  to 
the  Marquis  de  St.  Suffit,  on  one  occasion. 
"  Do  they  like  one  another?  I  am  sure  I  do 
not  know,  I  never  asked  them.  But  you  will 
agree  with  me  that  it  is  an  excellent  match 
for  both  of  them,  and  the  wedding  is  to  be  at 
St.  Clotilde  in  April.  Of  course  I  made  the 
match.  My  cousin  Antoine  is  delighted 
that  his  son  is  so  well  placed." 

Such  was  the  character  of  the  arch-con- 
spirator whom  the  Frenchman  sought  out  to 
aid  him  in  his  quest  for  the  hand  of  the  lovely 
Miss  Gladys  Wilton  of  Wisconsin  and  New 
York.  Oh,  mothers,  you  who  take  your 
fair  innocents  to  Europe  to  finish  their  educa- 
tion, or  refine  their  manners,  beware!  Look 
well  into  the  character  of  those  with  whom 
you  may  allow  them  to  associate.  Unsus- 
pecting maidens  have  before  been  sacrificed 
upon  the  altar  of  Hymen,  for  the  sole  pur- 
pose, on  the  part  of  their  husbands,  of 
/  247 


Among  French  Inns 

garnishing  again,  with  the  fruits  of  American 
labour  and  industry,  the  tarnished  escutcheon 
of  some  noble  but  dilapidated  house.  Men 
there  are  who  will  make  your  daughters 
happy,  and  cause  the  bargain  to  be  a  fair 
one.  Others  there  are,  however,  who  will 
bring  them  only  misery,  sorrow,  and  despair. 
Mothers,  take  heed,  for  the  fathers  need  little 
counsel;  guard  your  daughters  from  the 
intrigues,  the  fascinations,  and  the  pitfalls 
of  European  life! 

The  lights  glitter.  The  names  are  music 
in  the  ears.  The  play  is  a  brilliant  and 
entrancing  one.  But  something  lies  deeper 
than  the  footlights  of  the  theatre,  and  that 
is  human  character.  Man  is  human,  and  his 
character  is  varied.  Within  these  palace 
walls  there  are  degrees  of  happiness  and  life. 
Daughters  of  America,  pause  and  consider 
the  consequences  of  a  little  word,  uttered  in 
the  soft  light  of  an  arbour,  in  the  conserva- 
tory of  a  villa,  in  the  lane  of  some  lovely 
retreat!  All  is  seeming  love,  enchantment, 
and  delight.  But  the  morrow  comes  and  the 
scene  changes.  You  awake  and  find  the 
dream  a  sad  reality,  too  late  to  retrieve  the 
happiness  that  might  have  been  yours! 

The  duchess  was  a  delightful  and  fascina- 
248 


With  the  Duchess  at  Trouville 

ting  woman,  at  whose  shrine  all  fashionable 
France  bowed  in  homage.  She  combined  the 
virtues  and  most  of  the  vices  —  but  not  all  — 
of  the  French  aristocracy.  Had  it  not  been 
for  her  inveterate  love  of  romance  and  in- 
trigue, the  world  about  her  would  have  been 
in  every  way  a  happy  and  desirable  one. 
Still,  even  this  failing  had  its  compensations, 
and  occasionally,  in  one  of  her  match-making 
efforts,  she  aided  two  lovers  who  were  suited 
to  each  other,  in  whose  case  marriage  and 
freedom  from  the  tyranny  of  their  parents 
worked  well  and  happily.  For  of  all  the 
peoples  in  the  world,  the  French,  while  good 
and  devoted  parents  in  many  respects  beyond 
other  nations,  can  torment  and  tyrannize  over 
the  objects  of  their  solicitude  with  a  success 
unattained  elsewhere. 

'^  Then  you  really  think  you  love  her," 
said  the  duchess  to  the  Frenchman,  as  she 
soothed  the  irritable  little  barks  of  her  toy 
terrier,  seated  on  a  cushion  at  her  feet. 

"  Love  her? "  exclaimed  the  Frenchman 
in  a  fever  of  excitement;  "  did  I  not  say  I 
was  fou,  fou,  fou  d^amour?  Duchesse,  if 
you  could  only  lend  me  your  assistance,  I 
am  sure  she  would  consent  to  become  my 
wife." 

249 


Among  French  Inns 

"  I  do  not  believe  you  are  really  in  love 
with  her  at  all,"  said  the  duchess,  half-laugh- 
ingly,  and  raised  a  perfumed  handkerchief 
to  her  face.  "  You  young  men  are  all  the 
same.  You  spend  your  last  sous  over  in 
America,  and  then  come  and  confide  in  me, 
to  help  you  to  do  what  you  cannot  do  for 
yourselves.  You  remember  it  was  the  same 
last  year,  and  it  all  came  to  nothing.  You 
mean  to  say  that  you  were  with  her  in  the 
Abbaye  de  St.  Wandrille  and  did  not  pro- 
pose? My  dear  child,  we  never  shall  suc- 
ceed in  arranging  a  marriage  for  you  if  you 
have  no  success  by  yourself.  You  know  these 
Americans  do  things  differently  from  our- 
selves.    I  never  can  understand  their  ways." 

"  But  they  take  their  positions  in  France 
with  success,  duchess,"  said  the  Frenchman, 
and  the  duchess  was  obliged  to  acknowledge 
that  this  was  true.  Still,  she  seemed  to  be 
much  too  engrossed  with  her  lap-dog  to  really 
hold  out  a  serious  promise  of  assistance. 
Perhaps  she  had  other  plans  for  the  fair 
young  American  who  was  her  guest  for  the 
week  at  Trouville.  Who  can  tell  what  there 
is  in  the  mind  of  so  experienced  a  woman 
as  the  Duchesse  de  V ? 

"  Such  a  touching  little  life,"  said  she, 
250 


IVith  the  Duchess  at  Trouville 

adoringly,  as  she  glanced  at  the  bundle  of 
curly  hair  that  composed  her  lap-dog. 

"What  do  you  call  him,  duchess?"  asked 
Mr.  Blodget  Wilton,  who  had  just  returned 
to  the  drawing-room. 

"  She  calls  herself  '  Mees,' "  replied  his 
hostess,  reprovingly,  stroking  the  little  bark- 
ing animal,  which  seemed  to  care  nothing 
for  the  affection  lavished  upon  it. 

"Oh,"  said  Mr.  Blodget  Wilton,  trying  to 
follow  the  idea  and  make  some  practical  use 
of  it,  "it's  a  lady,  is  it?     Miss  who?" 

"  Just  *  Mees,'  tout  simplement/'  replied 
the  duchess,  satisfied. 

"  Oh,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  and  gave  up  the 
attempt  to  make  anything  out  of  such  a 
nonsensical  name  for  such  a  nonsensical  dog, 
as  he  afterward  remarked  to  the  English- 
man, when  well  out  of  hearing. 

"  My  nephew,"  said  the  duchess  to  Miss 
Wilton,  who  entered  at  that  moment,  intro- 
ducing a  small,  slight  youth,  with  light 
yellow  mustachios  rising  nearly  to  his  eye- 
brows; and  the  two  young  people  bowed 
and  entered  into  conversation. 

"  My  aunt  says  you  will  be  here  for  the 
week,"  said  he;  "we  shall  see  something  of 
the  races,  I  hope,  before  you  go." 


Among  French  Inns 

Miss  Wilton  looked  at  the  diminutive 
Comte  Raoul  de  Breville  —  for  such  was  the 
name  of  the  duchess's  nephew  —  with  some- 
thing akin  to  mirth  on  her  countenance. 

''  Are  the  races  as  early  as  next  week?  " 
she  said.  "  I  had  no  idea  they  were  so  soon. 
But  we  have  been  wandering  about  the 
country  in  automobiles,  and  staying  at  such 
queer  inns  and  out-of-the-way  places,  that  I 
have  nearly  lost  all  account  of  time." 

A  bell  rang,  and  the  company  separated 
to  dress  for  dinner.  The  duchess's  brother-in- 
law,  the  Due  de  St.  Galmier,  was  of  the 
party.  Mrs.  Blodget  Wilton  had  the  honour 
of  being  taken  in  to  dinner  by  him,  and  Mr. 
Blodget  Wilton  escorted  the  duchess.  The 
duke  was  so  great  a  personage  that  instead  of 
ending  his  letters  in  the  manner  of  ordinary 
mortals,  he  considered  it  enough  to  say, 
"I  feel  well.  St.  Galmier."  He  never 
"  proffered  his  distinguished  salutations," 
nor  "  deposed  at  the  feet "  of  his  correspond- 
ents "  his  most  profound  sentiments,"  as  did 
other  less  elevated  members  of  the  French 
aristocracy.  It  seemed  sufficient,  in  his  esti- 
mation of  his  friends'  regard,  that  the  Due 
de   St.  Galmier  should   feel  well.     And  so 


252 


With  the  Duchess  at  Trouville 

he  invariably  did  feel  well,  when  writing  to 
any  one  short  of  a  reigning  monarch. 

"And  how  is  Trouville  this  year,  due?" 
said  Mrs.  Wilton,  in  her  most  engaging 
manner.  The  duke  had  to  be  talked  to, 
amused,  and  drawn  out,  like  the  stops  of  an 
organ,  and,  being  the  duke  that  he  was,  Mrs. 
Wilton  was  perfectly  willing  to  work  over 
him  and  await  results;  for  results  invariably 
followed  everything  that  she  really  undertook 
to  do. 

"  Trouville  is  gai,  h'len  gai'^  replied  the 
duke.  "The  Casino  is  crowded.  Everybody 
plays  from  morning  till  night.  Nobody 
seems  to  win,  though.  Does  your  husband 
play  piquet?  " 

Mr.  Wilton  did  play  piquet,  and  his  wife 
determined  that  he  should  play  with  the 
duke  after  dinner,  and,  if  necessary,  allow 
him  to  win  the  rubber.  What  cared  they? 
It  might  make  the  duke  a  very  useful  friend, 
and  was  well  worth  a  thousand  francs.  Such 
friends  as  the  Due  de  St.  Galmier  were 
usually  powerful  and  true.  And  then  the 
duke  had  an  eldest  son,  a  promising  member 
of  the  Chamber  des  Deputes,  and  heir  to 
all  the  chateaux,  estates,  and  honours  of  the 


253 


Among  French  Inns 

great  name  of  his  family.  Decidedly  let  him 
play  piquet  with  Mr.  Blodget  Wilton. 

"  What  is  the  latest  move  in  regard  to  the 
religious  orders  in  France?''  said  she,  for 
she  was  well  up  in  French  politics  and  knew 
that  she  could  twist  the  duke  around  her 
finger  by  sympathizing  with  him  on  a  burn- 
ing question. 

"  Ah,  you  have  not  seen  my  letter  in  the 
Gaulois,  then,"  said  the  duke,  rising  imme- 
diately to  the  bait  which  was  held  out  to 
him.  "  I  have  written,  protesting  against 
this  exclusion  of  the  congregations.  It  means 
they  must  all  leave  France.  We  shall  resist 
the  government's  policy  to  the  utmost.  It 
is  infamous,  wicked,  atrocious!  What  can 
we  expect  our  children  to  become,  if  we 
exclude  religion  from  their  lives  and  prevent 
the  congregations  and  religious  orders  from 
retaining  their  property?  Ah!  I  do  not 
know  what  we  are  coming  to,"  and  the  Due 
de  St.  Galmier  made  a  tragic  gesture,  which 
denoted  something  of  the  grandeur  of  his 
feelings. 

He  was  the  head  and  front  of  the  Opposi- 
tion, which  was  then  working  up  conservative 
France  to  a  pitch  of  frenzy  over  the  action 
of  the  government  in  regard  to  the  religious 

254 


IVith  the  Duchess  at  Trouville 

orders.  It  was  said  that,  incited  by  the  gen- 
eral outcry  on  the  part  of  the  old  regime, 
the  nuns  of  a  certain  convent  had  barricaded 
the  doors,  and  caused  no  end  of  trouble  to 
the  authorities  who  were  charged  with  the 
duty  of  carrying  out  the  provisions  of  the 
new  law. 

The  duchess  was  an  ally  of  her  brother- 
in-law.  She  soon  took  up  the  trend  of  the 
conversation  and  delivered  herself  of  a  num- 
ber of  ducal  sentiments,  as  decided  as  they 
were  violent  in  their  tone. 

"  I  am  glad  you  feel  as  you  do,  madame," 
said  she  to  Mrs.  Wilton.  "  It  is  a  terrible 
calamity,  a  terrible  calamity  to  France.  I 
do  not  know  what  we  are  coming  to,"  and  the 
duchess  consoled  herself  with  the  remains 
of  a  souffle. 

"  And  so  you  have  been  staying  at  the  inns 
since  you  landed  in  Normandy,"  said  the 
duchess  to  Mr.  Wilton,  who  was  feeling 
much  bored,  and  did  not  care  a  button  for 
the  religious  congregations,  or  whether  they 
stayed  or  went.  His  eyes  were  wandering 
down  the  beautiful  table  to  the  figure  of  his 
daughter,  seated  between  two  Frenchmen, 
bending  over  her  in  fascinated  conversation, 
vying  with  each  other  for  her   replies   and 

255 


Among  French  Inns 

the  favour  of  her  attention.  Mr.  Wilton  sat 
there,  thinking  of  the  probable  future  of  his 
only  child,  this  daughter '  whom  he  loved 
more  than  his  millions;  and  for  the  moment 
he  hardly  heard  the  duchess's  remark. 

"  Oh,  the  inns,  yes,  nice  old  places,  yes," 
said  he,  absently.  "You  see,  duchess,  it's 
just  this  way.  I  don't  like  automobiles  and 
really  I've  no  business  to  be  in  Europe,  any- 
way. My  proper  place  is  at  home,  looking 
after  my  affairs.  But  the  Mrs.,"  —  and  with 
this  he  pointed  jocosely  with  one  of  his 
thumbs  in  the  direction  of  his  wife,  —  ''she 
will  have  it  that  I  need  a  vacation.  So  here 
I've  been,  dumped  down  at  any  old  place  in 
France  they  take  it  into  their  heads  to  visit." 

The  duchess  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 

"  We  must  have  a  little  music,"  she  said, 
as  she  gave  the  signal  to  rise  and  return  to 
the  drawing-room. 

"  Mademoiselle  Gladys  sings,  does  she 
not?"  continued  the  duchess;  and  Miss 
Gladys  very  obligingly  sang  several  pretty 
songs,  accompanied  by  Count  Raoul  de  Bre- 
ville.  The  duchess  liked  her  voice,  and 
seemed  pleased  that  she  sang  with  her 
nephew.  Judging  from  her  manner,  there 
were    other    plans    in    the    duchess's    fertile 

256 


With  the  Duchess  at  Trouville 

brain  than  the  arrangement  of  a  match  be- 
tween the  Frenchman  and  the  object  of  his 
af]fection. 

"  It  would  be  nice  if  you  would  sing  a 
duet  with  Conte  di  Pomponi,"  said  the 
duchess;  but  Miss  Wilton  was  a  little 
hoarse,  and  had  forgotten  her  duets,  we  fear 
purposely,  having  heard  the  count  sing  on  a 
previous  occasion. 

The  following  day  was  occupied  with 
visits  to  the  beach  and  the  neighbouring 
places,  with  calls  and  entertainments  of  va- 
rious kinds,  which  delighted  Mrs.  Wilton, 
and  gave  Count  Romeo  an  opportunity  to 
dress  himself  in  flamboyant  attire,  and  to 
circulate   freely   among  the   ladies. 

Trouville  has  been  a  place  of  fashion  since 
1825.  Its  familiarity  with  the  world  which 
now  frequents  it  may  be  said  to  have  orig- 
inated with  the  sea  pictures  painted  by  the 
artist  Mozin  about  that  time.  Now  it  is 
the  scene  of  wild  gaiety  during  August,  and 
almost  deserted  at  other  times  of  the  year. 
The  beach  is  one  of  its  features,  with  beau- 
tifully dressed  women  sitting  upon  the  sands, 
or  promenading  upon  the  walk,  with  bands  of 
music,  with  bathers,  and  the  familiar  bathing- 
machines  of  France. 

257 


Among  French  Inns 

There  is  a  charming  chateau,  dating  from 
the  time  of  Louis  XIII.,  near  the  forest  of 
Touques,  about  fifteen  kilometres  from  Trou- 
ville,  and  this  the  duchess  and  some  of  the 
party  at  the  villa  visited.  It  is  known  as  the 
Chateau  d'Hebertot,  and  well  repaid  them 
for  their  visit  and  the  fatigue  of  the  long 
drive,  —  for  the  duchess  would  not  hear  of  an 
automobile! 

On  another  day  we  were  taken  to  the  Cha- 
teau de  Lassay,  which  is  now  in  ruins,  but 
which  is  pregnant  with  interest  and  asso- 
ciations of  La  Grande  Mademoiselle,  for 
whose  arrival  it  was  built  by  the  famous 
Marquis  de  Lassay  of  that  time,  and  which 
must  have  pleased  her  fastidious  taste,  if  we 
may  judge  by  accounts  of  its  former  beauty. 
Indeed,  in  those  days  the  great  nobles  of 
France  thought  nothing  of  adding  a  whole 
wing  to  their  chateaux,  or  building  a  new 
one,  as  in  this  case,  for  the  reception  —  some- 
times for  a  night  only  —  of  their  sovereign 
or  a  member  of  his  family. 

Probably  no  greater  extravagance  or  lux- 
ury in  building  has  existed  than  among  the 
French  in  the  days  of  their  monarchical 
splendour,  save  with  the  Romans  in  the  days 
of   their  magnificent  emperors.     Such  cha- 

258    . 


With  the  Duchess  at  Trouville 

teaux  as  Versailles,  Compiegne,  Chantilly, 
and  others  remain,  to  tell  us  of  what  was 
done  in  the  periods  dating  from  Frangois  I. 
to  Louis  XVI.,  and  bear  witness  to  the  truth 
of  our  assertion. 

The  third  day  of  the  visit  was  one  of  the 
days  of  the  races,  and  the  duchess's  party 
went  forth  to  attend  this  function,  in  all  its 
glory.  That  France  is  a  sporting  nation  may 
no  longer  be  gainsaid.  Since  she  has  taken 
up  the  time-honoured  sport  of  horse-racing 
she  has  developed  it  to  its  greatest  extent. 
Her  courses  are  some  of  the  finest  and  most 
beautiful  in  the  world.  Her  horsed  and 
riders  are  in  the  front  rank,  and  her  show  of 
beauty  and  dresses  in  the  favoured  enclo- 
sures beyond  any  similar  accumulations  of 
wealth  in  the  world. 

But  what  shall  we  say  of  the  interest  that 
is  taken  in  sport  by  the  great  mass  of  the 
people  themselves?  On  a  holiday  every 
family  that  can  afford  the  outing,  goes  to  les 
courses,  armed  with  their  savings,  which  they 
risk  on  their  favourite  horse;  for  the  pleas- 
ure and  excitement  of  gambling  is  ingrained 
in  the  French  nature,  and  the  last  sou  goes 
to  the  betting  booth,  in  voluntary  offering  to 
the  god  of  chance. 

259 


Among  French  Inns 

Les  courses!  Who  shall  adequately  de- 
scribe the  scene,  in  Paris  or  elsewhere,  the 
crowds  that  gather  in  the  sunlight  of  a 
holiday  at  Longchamps  or  Auteuil?  Whither 
flies  this  army  of  carriages,  from  the  coach 
and  four  to  the  meanest  fiacre  that  rolls 
along  the  Bois  de  Boulogne?  To  les  courses! 
Allez,  cocher!  It  is  the  hour  of  les  courses. 
Fortunes  are  lost  and  won.  Jockeys  are  in- 
jured. The  game  goes  on.  The  spirit  of 
fatality  underlying  the  sport  has  little  effect. 
To  les  courses,  and  haste,  lest  we  be  too 
late! 

The  races  at  Trouville  are  the  climax  of 
the  season  there,  and  all  the  world  goes  to 
them,  in  its  fairest  attire,  and  attended  by 
all  that  France  possesses  which  is  most  bril- 
liant in  Vanity  Fair.  It  so  happened  that 
Miss  Gladys  Wilton  was  driven  to  the  course 
by  Comte  Raoul  de  Breville  in  a  very  pretty 
dog-cart  (which  had  been  waiting  in  the 
duchess's  stable  for  just  this  occasion). 
Seated  beside  her  escort,  she  looked  a  picture 
of  beauty,  and,  of  course,  her  other  suitors 
were  jealous,  unutterably  jealous;  but  that 
made  little  difference,  for  it  was  so  arranged 
in  the  disposition  of  the  guests  that  they  w^ere 
to  escort  the  other  ladies  of  the  party.     Mrs. 

260 


With  the  Duchess  at  Trouville 

Wilton  went  with  the  Due  de  St.  Galmier 
(who  had  won  his  rubber  at  piquet  the  night 
before),  and  was  in  a  most  amiable  frame 
of  mind. 

The  day  was  a  beautiful  one,  and  the  races 
everything  that  could  be  desired,  under  the 
circumstances.  They  were  not  Paris,  of 
course,  nor  was  the  Trouville  course  the 
Bois  de  Bologne;  but  Auteuil  is  closed  in 
August,  and  fashionable  France  disports 
itself  at  the  seashore  or  in  its  chateaux 
dotted  about  this  beautiful  country. 

Mrs.  Blodget  Wilton  enjoyed  herself  ex- 
ceedingly. She  made  distinct  headway  with 
the  duke,  who  invited  her  to  stay  at  his  cha- 
teau for  the  shooting  season  in  October.  In 
the  late  afternoon  every  one  returned  to  the 
villa  for  tea  —  every  one  but  the  Comte 
Raoul  and  the  fair  Miss  Gladys. 

"Where  the  deuce  is  Gladys?"  asked  Mr. 
Wilton,  as  time  wore  on. 

"  Oh,  my  nephew  has  probably  taken  her 
for  a  little  drive,"  said  the  duchess,  uncon- 
cernedly; but  Mr.  Blodget  Wilton  had  heard 
of  these  little  drives  before,  and  did  not 
feel  entirely  easy  in  his  mind.  This  uneasi- 
ness grew  upon  him  as  dinner-time  ap- 
proached   and    no    daughter    appeared.      At 

261 


Among  French  Inns 

home  he  would  have. thought  nothing  of  it, 
but  here  it  was  different.  He  mistrusted 
foreigners  in  general,  and  the  Comte  Raoul 
de  Breville  in  particular. 

He  fumed  with  annoyance  while  the  rest 
of  the  party  amused  themselves  in  their  own 
way,  and  finally  appeared  for  dinner.  Then 
even  Mrs.  Blodget  Wilton  began  to  wonder 
what  had  happened  to  her  daughter.  The 
Count  Raoul,  though  the  nephew  of  the 
duchess,  was  almost  a  stranger,  and  it  was  not 
pleasant  to  think  that  an  accident  might  have 
occurred,  and  that  they  had  been  stranded 
alone  in  the  country  near  Trouville;  and 
after  the  races,  too,  with  all  sorts  of  strange 
people  wandering  about  —  alone  with  a  for- 
eigner after  dark,  and  in  France!  Mrs. 
Wilton  was  not  at  her  ease,  and  was  unable 
to  be  as  attentive  to  the  Due  de  St.  Galmier 
as  she  would  have  wished.  There  was  a  sense 
of  impending  evil  hanging  over  the  dinner, 
and  Mr.  Wilton  clearly  showed  his  annoy- 
ance by  his  expression. 

The  duchess  alone  was  unconcerned,  and 
seeemed  to  think  of  the  matter  as  an  every- 
day occurrence.  Still,  the  soup,  the  fish,  the 
entrees,  and  finally  the  entire  dinner  went  by, 
and  no  Gladys,  and  no  Comte  Raoul! 

262 


IVith  the  Duchess  at  Trouville 

^' C'est  drdle,  pourtant/'  said  the  duchess 
finally. 

Mr.  Blodget  Wilton  thought  it  was  any- 
thing but  droll,  but  succeeded  in  containing 
himself  with  a  good  deal  of  difficulty  and 
considerable  self-control.  Finally  the  com- 
pany left  the  table,  and  coffee  and  liqueurs 
appeared  on  the  terrace.  The  evening  was  a 
beautiful  one,  but  there  was  no  moon  (and  it 
must  have  been  very  dark  on  the  country 
roads  and  hedge-lined  lanes  at  that  hour.) 

"  I  cannot  help  feeling  that  they  must 
have  had  an  accident,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton. 

The  Count  Romeo  di  Pomponi  was  thor- 
oughly worked  up  over  the  disappearance, 
and  was  much  flustered  at  the*  occurrence. 
Where  could  they  be?  What  could  have 
happened?  He  was  for  instituting  a  search- 
ing-party in  automobiles.  All  sorts  of  ideas 
flew  through  his  romantic  brain,  and  filled 
him  with  a  wild  desire  to  rush  forth  into  the 
night  in  pursuit  of  Comte  Raoul  de  Breville 
and  in  deliverance  of  his  fair  one.  What 
if  she  did  not  reciprocate  his  passion!  Was 
not  love  in  itself  strong  enough  for  any 
sacrifice  short  of  actual  death?  And  then, 
to  save  her  from  a  possible  danger  would  be 
at  once  to  make  himself  a  hero,  and  as  such, 

263 


Among  French  Inns 

entitled  to  her  consideration  and  esteem, 
perhaps  her  love,  who  could  tell? 

In  the  midst  of  these  deliberations  voices 
were  heard  in  the  hall,  and  in  another  minute 
the  fair  Gladys  herself  appeared  in  the 
doorway,  and  behind  her  Comte  Raoul  de 
Breville. 

"Well,  at  last!"  we  all  exclaimed  in  a 
chorus  of  voices. 

"  Why,  Gladys,  where  have  you  been?  We 
really  were  getting  anxious,"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
ton, much  relieved  to  see  her  alive  and  well. 

"  Give  me  a  kiss,  my  little  girl.  Are  you 
all  right? "  said  her  father,  and  sat  down 
to  light  a  cigar,  now  that  he  saw  she  was 
safe  and  sound. 

"  But  what  did  happen?  Was  there  an 
accident?  "  said  every  one  at  once,  and  in 
great  excitement. 

Miss  Wilton  looked  serious,  and  the 
Comte  Raoul  rather  frightened. 

"  Yes,  there  was  an  accident,"  said  he. 
"  There  was  something  the  matter  with  one 
of  the  wheels  of  the  carriage,  and  we  had 
to  walk  most  of  the  way  home." 

"Oh!"  said  every  one,  much  concerned; 
and  the  Comte  Raoul  proceeded,  hastily, 
to  go  into  further  details.     But  Miss  Wilton 

264 


With  the  Duchess  at  Trouville 

complained  that  she  was  tired,  and  retired 
almost  immediately  to  her  room,  followed 
by  her  mother. 

"  Mamma,"  said  she,  "  you  must  make 
some  excuse  to  the  duchess,  and  either  take 
me  away,  or  let  me  go  away  with  papa  to- 
morrow. I  do  not  feel  that  I  care  to  see 
Comte  Raoul  de  Breville  again." 

"  Why,  my  dear,  do  you  mean  what  you 
say?  What  has  happened?  Consider  how 
very  awkward  it  would  be,"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
ton, in  one  breath  and  much  agitated. 

"  Something  has  occurred,  mamma,  which 
was  not  agreeable  to  me  at  all,  and  I  am 
sure  you  would  not  wish  me  to  stay  any 
longer.  I  am  sure  papa  would  not  wish  it, 
either." 

Mrs.  Wilton  knew  that  her  daughter  was 
probably  right,  and,  knowing  her  tempera- 
ment, wisely  desisted  from  going  into  any 
further  details;  so  she  proceeded  to  give 
orders  to  have  her  daughter's  clothes  packed, 
and  then  sat  down  to  think  the  matter  over. 
It  would  be  very  awkward,  not  to  say  im- 
possible, for  the  whole  Wilton  family  to 
leave  the  duchess's  roof  suddenly  on  the 
morrow.  The  consequence  of  such  *a  step 
would  be  too  serious  to  Mrs.  Wilton's  care- 

265 


Among  French  Inns 

fully  guarded  position  in  France,  for  her  to 
entertain  the  thought  for  a  moment.  So  she 
decided  to  send  Gladys  away  with  her  father. 
His  excuse  would  be  business,  and  her  daugh- 
ter's, an  indisposition,  subsequent  to  the 
accident  which  Comte  Raoul  had  described 
with  so  much  detail,  but  which  Mrs.  Blodget 
Wilton  knew  in  her  own  heart  to  have  been' 
either  a  myth  or  a  carefully  planned  incident 
in  a  definitely  arranged  programme  on  the 
part  of  the  duchess  and  her  nephew. 

So  it  was  decided,  and  the  following  day 
Mr.  Blodget  Wilton  and  his  daughter  de- 
parted from  Trouville  —  ostensibly  for  Paris 
but  in  reality  for  the  Department  of  Orne 
in  Southern  Normandy.  With  them  went 
also  the  American  historian  of  these  pages. 
The  duchess  was  desolee  to  have  them  go, 
and,  indeed,  seemed  a  little  disconcerted  at 
losing  them,  but  hoped  to  see  them  again. 
They  must  come  back  and  stay  at  Trouville, 
or  at  the  Hotel  de  Guillaume  le  Conquerant 
at  Dives,  when  they  could  all  meet  for  de- 
jeuner. They  must  come.  They  would 
come. 

That  something  had  occurred  was  evident 
to  the  mind  of  every  member  of  the  house 

party  of  the  Duchesse  de  V 's  villa  the 

266 


With  the  Duchess  at  Trouville 

following  day.  But  what  that  something  was 
no  one  was  able  to  discover  from  any  word  or 
deed  on  the  part  of  those  who  knew  what 
the  occurrence  had  been.  Nobody  ever  has 
been  able  to  find  out  to  this  day,  and  probably 
no  one  ever  will  know,  if  they  should  live 
to  be  a  hundred  years  old. 

The  duchess  and  Mrs.  Wilton  were  as 
silent  as  the  grave.  The  Due  de  St.  Galmier 
tried  to  find  out  that  something,  but  failed 
absolutely.  The  Comte  Raoul  de  Breville 
said  there  had  been  an  accident  to  the  left 
wheel,  but  when  the  Count  Romeo  di  Pom- 
poni  and  the  Frenchman  visited  the  stables 
to  inspect  the  vehicle,  having  crept  there 
quite  by  accident  at  different  times  when  no 
one  knew  what  they  were  about,  they  were 
informed  that  it  had  gone  to  be  repaired. 
Presumably  its  owner  had  given  orders  that 
it  should  not  be  shown  to  any  one,  not  even 
to  the  duchess  herself.  So  the  matter  rested 
there,  and  it  was  tacitly  accepted  by  every 
one  concerned  that  something  had  occurred 
which  they  could  not  find  out,  and  that  that 
something  must  for  ever  remain  a  secret,  an 
unravelled  mystery,  too  deep  even  for  the 
subtle  wit  of  the  Frenchman  to  discover. 

Mrs.  Wilton,  it  must  be  said,  behaved  with 
267 


Among  French  Inns 

rare  tact  and  discretion  all  through  the 
trying  period  which  followed  the  departure 
of  her  husband  and  daughter.  She  acted, 
indeed,  just  as  if  nothing  had  occurred,  and 
even  went  so  far  as  to  play  piquet  with  both 
the  duke  and  the  duchess  once  in  the  after- 
noon and  once  in  the  evening,  losing  a  thou- 
sand or  two  francs  each  time,  but  winning 
back  a  few  hundred  from  the  duchess  on  the 
last  day  of  her  visit,  just  to  show  that  she 
could  play  the  game  when  she  wished  to. 

She  made  herself  so  indispensable  to  every 
one  present,  that  Trouville  felt  it  really 
needed  Mrs.  Blodget  Wilton  to  make  itself 
enjoy  the  season's  pleasures  to  the  utmost. 
Before  leaving,  she  gave  a  grand  dinner  at 
one  of  the  most  expensive  restaurants,  which 
was  attended  by  several  dukes  and  duchesses, 
by  three  princes,  and  many  notabilities  in  all 
branches  of  life.  The  diamonds  sparkled. 
The  conversation  was  brilliant.  Fruits  and 
flowers  out  of  season  embellished  the  table. 
A  whole  suite  of  apartments  was  reserved  for 
the  guests,  and  rare  dishes  containing  price- 
less foods  delighted  their  appetites  and  their 
souls. 

Mrs.  Blodget  Wilton's  dinner  became  one 
of    the    incidents    of    the    season    that    year. 

268 


With  the  Duchess  at  Trouville 

The  dinner  was  talked  of.  Mrs.  Wilton  was 
talked  of. 

The  count  and  the  Frenchman  were  as 
much  in  the  dark  and  as  anxious  to  find  out 
what  had  occurred  as  any  one.  Something 
had  happened;  one  could  depend  on  that. 
Did  Raoul  de  Breville  propose,  or  did  he 
not?  Or  was  it  something  else?  They  had 
not,  of  course,  been  enlightened  in  any  way. 
Why  should  they?  The  count  was  most 
injudicious,  and  always  told  everything  to 
everybody  as  soon  as  he  heard  it.  If  he  had 
known  the  smallest  detail,  all  Trouville 
would  have  been  the  wiser  within  twelve 
hours.  Every  one  heard  how  they  had  gone 
to  the  stables  to  see  the  injured  dog-cart,  and 
found  it  hidden  away.  Every  place  where  it 
could  have  been  sent  for  repairs  in  Trou- 
ville was  hastily  searched,  but  nobody  ever 
found  it,  and  nobody  ever  saw  the  broken 
wheel,  or  knew  whether  it  had  been  really 
broken  at  all. 

What  wa^  it  that  Raoul  de  Breville  had 
done,  and  that  Miss  Gladys  Wilton  had  not 
done,  on  the  now  famous  evening  of  the 
return  from  the  races  in  the  dog-cart?  Any- 
body coming  to  Trouville  at  this  time  would 
have  found  society  divided  up  into  an  im- 

269 


Among  French  Inns 

promptu  detective  agency,  with  old  Made- 
moiselle de  Rossignol,  who  had  known  all 
the  somethings  that  had  occurred  at  Trou- 
ville  for  twenty  years,  as  the  chef  de  bureau. 

The  strangest  part  of  it  all  was  the  indif- 
ference which  the  Englishman  displayed 
toward  the  affair.  He  did  not  seem  to  take 
in  the  situation  at  all.  Could  it  have  been 
that —  But  no;  that  would  have  been 
impossible.  Every  one  knew  that  it  would 
have  been  impossible.  He  was  with  the 
duchess  and  the  count  and  the  Frenchman 
all  the  time  before  and  after  the  races. 

Still,  it  was  very  strange  that  he  always 
changed  the  subject  when  it  was  brought 
up  before  him,  and  seemed  indifferent  to  the 
whole  question.  The  English  are  so  reserved 
it  is  impossible  to  get  them  to  disclose  any- 
thing of  this  nature. 

Suddenly  the  Frenchman  disappeared,  and 
no  one  knew  where  he  had  gone.  It  was 
said  that  he  had  gone  to  La  Sarthe,  but  there 
was  no  evidence  to  that  effect,  and  he  might 
have  dropped  through  the  centre  of  the  earth, 
for  all  that  any  one  knew  of  his  whereabouts. 
He  had  never  left  Trouville  so  early  in  the 
season  before.     There  must  be  some  reason. 

Soon  after  this  there  came  another  sudden 
270 


With  the  Duchess  at  Trouville 

surprise.  It  was  announced  one  lovely  morn- 
ing in  the  month  of  August  that  Mr.  Blodget 
Wilton,  his  daughter,  the  Frenchman,  and  the 
American,  were  all  staying  at  the  famous 
old  Hotel  de  Guillaume  le  Conquerant  at 
Dives.     Wonders  would  never  cease. 

It  was  not  long  before  all  Trouville  had 
heard  the  news,  and  had  thrown  itself  into 
the  wildest  delirium  of  excitement.  Gossip 
had  reached  the  fever  point,  and  nothing 
could  hold  back  the  people  now.  Steam  and 
electricity,  horses,  carriages,  every  mode  of 
conveyance  at  hand  bore  Trouville  to  the 
Hotel  de  Guillaume  le  Conquerant,  at  Dives. 
Never  has  so  much  business  been  done  there 
as  that  season.  The  hosts  were  submerged 
with  guests  and  the  place  became  a  centre 
of  excursions  from  Trouville  and  its  sur- 
roundings. 

Could  it  be  wondered  at?  When  an  inci- 
dent as  mysterious  and  interesting  as  the 
something  which  had  occurred  at  Trouville 
actually  does  occur,  and  when  the  heroine  is 
a  beautiful  girl,  the  heiress  to  countless 
millions,  safely  stowed  away  in  a  great 
American  business,  and  in  the  most  conserva- 
tive of  American  securities,  is  it  to  be  won- 
dered  at  that  society  takes   an   interest  and 

271 


Among  French  Inns 

desires  to  be  enlightened?  Society  would 
not  be  human  if  it  sat  by  and  did  not. 

No  one  was  more  rejoiced  to  learn  of  the 
arrival  of  Mr.  and  Miss  Wilton  than  Count 
Romeo  di  Pomponi.  The  weeks  that  they 
had  been  away  were  like  months  to  him. 
Life  without  the  delightful  presence  of  the 
fair  Miss  Gladys,  even  though  she  loved 
him  not,  seemed  but  an  idle  affair,  lacking 
all  the  joy  and  brightness  of  living.  For 
though  his  appearance  was  not  romantic,  still 
his  soul  was  youthful  and  ardent.  Count 
Romeo  delighted  to  think  of  love  as  some- 
thing coming  from  the  gods,  a  heavenly 
possession,  and  he  saw  no  reason  for  conceal- 
ing it,  having  never  concealed  anything 
in  his  life,  and  being  then  nearly  fifty  years 
of  age. 

Be  it  said,  however,  in  defence  of  his  char- 
acter, that  no  matter  how  often  he  might  be 
touched  by  the  tender  passion,  nor  how 
fleeting  might  be  its  stay,  it  left  behind  it  a 
pleasant  aftermath  of  friendship  or  friendly 
feeling.  His  desire  was  to  serve  and  to 
make  happy  his  present  or  his  past  divinities. 
He  would  travel  miles  to  see  them,  send 
flowers,  cards,  missives  of  every  sort,  on  all 
occasions,  spend  his  last  sou  in  their  enter- 

272 


IVith  the  Duchess  at  Trouville 

tainment,  and  remain  faithful  in  his  atten- 
tions long  after  the  fierce  storm  of  love  had 
spent  itself,  and  left  only  a  kindly  sentiment 
behind  it. 

In  this  way  he  made  many  real  friends, 
for,  besides  the  ladies  themselves,  there  were 
frequently  their  mothers,  fathers,  and  fami- 
lies, as  well  as  the  various  other  confidants 
whom  he  sought  on  these  occasions.  On  this 
occasion  he  had  poured  out  his  heart  to  the 
Frenchman,  who,  of  course,  had  listened  to 
every  word,  and  retained  his  own  opinions 
in  regard  to  the  romance.  And  so  it  hap- 
pened that  the  count  also  went  to  the  Hotel 
de   Guillaume   le   Conquerant. 

But  the  historian  is  digressing  a  little  from 
his  narrative,  and  must  ask  his  readers  to  go 
back  with  him  to  the  weeks  previous,  and  to 
follow  Mr.  Wilton  and  his  daughter  in  that 
little  excursion  which  they  took  so  suddenly 
into  the  Department  of  Orne  in  Southern 
Normandy,  and  visit  with  them  some  of  the 
interesting  places  which  they  saw  by  them- 
selves, and  with  one  or  two  other  friends 
whom  they  chanced  to  meet  on  their  way. 

We  shall  then  be  prepared  to  take  up  in 
detail  some  of  the  events  which  clustered 
around  the  occupants  of  the  hotel  at  Dives, 

273 


Among  French  Inns 

and  observe  whether  or  not  Mademoiselle 
de  Rossignol  and  the  rest  of  the  gossips 
learned  anything  in  regard  to  what  had 
occurred  at  TrouvillCo 


274 


CHAPTER  IX 

IN   AND   OUT   OF   THE   DEPARTMENT   OF   ORNE 

When  Mr.  Wilton  and  his  daughter  left 
the  duchess's  villa,  they  had  no  very  settled 
plan  of  action.  As  we  drove  to  the  station, 
Gladys  suggested  our  going  to  Chartres,  but 
we  finally  ended  by  taking  the  train  to  Argen- 
tan.  As  we  continued,  however,  the  idea  of 
going  a  little  farther  afield  grew  upon  us. 
We  changed  cars  at  the  latter  place,  and  took 
a  lovely  journey  through  the  Department  of 
Orne  (by  way  of  St.  Gaubourge,  Laigle,  and 
Verneuil),  to  Dreux. 

Verneuil  is  a  quaint  old  place  containing 
the  remains  of  a  fortified  castle,  built  by 
Henry  I.  and  Henry  II.  "  La  Tour  Grise" 
is  the  only  tower  that  is  left  of  the  chateau. 
There  are  several  churches  and  picturesque 
houses  that  well  repay  a  visit.  Laigle  pos- 
sesses a  chateau  associated  with  the  name  of 
William  Rufus.  The  town  itself  is  famous 
as  having  been  the  first  to  experience  a  veri- 

275 


Among  French  Inns 

table  shower  of  stones,  which  are  reported  to 
have  fallen  in  the  year  1830. 

On  arriving  at  Dreux  the  three  travellers 
were  driven  to  the  Hotel  du  Paradis,  which 
they  found  very  comfortable,  and  where  they 
were  glad  to  rest  after  their  journey  across 
country  (usually  tedious  and  slow  at  best), 
and  there  to  recover  from  the  events  of  the 
last  twenty-four  hours.  During  the  day 
Gladys  had  hardly  referred  to  the  incident 
at  Trouville  the  evening  before.  She  knew 
her  father's  prejudice  against  foreigners,  and 
was  aware  that  the  less  said  about  them  the 
better. 

"  Gladys,"  he  had  once  said,  "  I  hope 
when  you  do  marry  that  you  will  marry  an 
American.  It  is  much  better  to  do  so  than 
to  waste  your  life  on  one  of  these  foreigners, 
who  are  only  after  your  money,  and  do  not 
know  what  it  means  to  give  a  true,  unselfish 
love  to  a  woman.  You  deserve  to  be  happy, 
and  I  have  seen  too  much  unhappiness  re- 
sulting from  foreign  marriages  to  make  me 
believe  in  them.  Think  of  me,  my  dear, 
when  you  are  tempted  to  do  anything  of  the 
kind,  and  try  to  resist  the  temptation  for 
my  sake." 

Gladys  often  thought  of  her  father's  re- 
276 


The  Department  of  Orne 

quest,  and  it  produced,  perhaps,  a  greater 
influence  on  her  actions  than  anything  he  had 
ever  said  to  her. 

"  I  could  never  marry  a  man  unless  I 
loved  him,  papa,"  she  had  replied,  "  and  I 
hope,  for  your  sake,  that  I  shall  love  an 
American." 

Mr.  Blodget  Wilton  knew  her  mother's 
ambitions,  and  the  influence  which  heredi- 
tary tastes  play  in  the  lives  of  young  people. 
He  was  vexed,  very  vexed,  at  what  had  oc- 
curred at  Trouville,  but  he  said  nothing 
during  the  journey,  feeling  sure  that  he  had 
no  cause  to  be  angry  with  Gladys.  In  her 
all  the  better  side  of  his  nature  was  centred. 
His  love  was  true  and  sincere.  He  wished 
her  to  have  all  that  the  world  could  give 
her,  which  he  had  not,  and  never  could  have, 
—  taste,  refinement,  culture;  and,  first  of  all, 
happiness. 

It  was  a  real  satisfaction  for  him  to  be 
with  her  for  a  little,  with  only  their  Ameri- 
can friend  the  historian  in  the  party,  and 
to  enjoy  her  sweet  nature  in  peace  and  com- 
fort, without  the  interference  of  others,  for 
whom  he  cared  little  or  nothing.  It  was 
pleasant  to  see  the  gentleness  of  this  rough 
diamond  in  his  relations  with  his  daughter, 

277 


Among  French  Inns 

this  man  whose  life  was  given  up  to  the 
accumulation  of  wealth,  and  spent  in  the 
daily  fight  for  millions,  in  the  destruction  of 
others  less  shrewd  than  himself,  and  in  the 
hard-hearted  turmoil  of  the  every-day  battles 
of  business. 

"  How  much  pleasanter  this  is  than  Trou- 
ville,  papa,"  said  Gladys,  one  day,  as  we 
were  on  our  way  to  visit  the  beautiful 
Church  of  St.  Pierre. 

"  I  am  glad  you  enjoy  being  with  your  old 
father,  dear,"  he  replied.  ''  I  was  afraid 
you  would  find  it  rather  dull  without  all 
your  other  friends.  By  the  way,  I  have  re- 
ceived word  from  your  mother  that  she  has 
decided  to  stay  on  with  the  duchess  at  Trou- 
ville  for  another  week.  So  we  may  as  well 
wander  about  for  a  little,  and,  if  you  like, 
go  to  Maintenon  and  Chartres.  They  are 
a  little  out  of  our  way,  but  we  can  return  at 
any  time,  if  we  feel  like  it." 

So  we  stayed  on  a  few  days  longer  at 
the  Hotel  du  Paradis,  and  wandered  in  and 
out  of  the  churches  and  other  places  of 
interest  at  Dreux.  The  town  is  an  ancient 
and  delightful  one,  and  legend  has  it  that  it 
dates  back  far  through  the  ages,  even  to  the 
time  of   Agrippa.     The   old   clock-tower  is 

278 


HOTEL    DE    VILLE,    DREUX 


5    *  ,*" 


The  Department  of  Orne 

interesting  and  beautiful,  and  the  Hotel 
de  Ville,  which  is  one  of  the  architectural 
features  of  the  town,  is  of  the  Renaissance. 
But  it  is  as  a  sepulchre  for  the  Orleans  family 
that  Dreux  has  its  chief  interest,  and  as  we 
mount  the  hill  at  the  end  of  the  principal 
street,  we  may  see  the  chapel  built  by  the 
EhDwager  Duchesse  d'Orleans,  in  1813.  In 
this  sanctuary  repose  the  bones  of  the  de- 
parted members  of  this  royal  family,  visited 
by  the  living  only  when  another  is  to  be 
added  to  that  sanctified  and  silent  company. 
Dreux  has  its  elegiac  side  as  well  as  its 
charm  for  the  visitor,  and  serves  to  bring  to 
him  thoughts  of  a  more  serious  and  peaceful 
nature  than  are  commonly  to  be  met  with  in 
this  portion  of  France. 

From  Dreux  our  friends  journeyed  to 
Maintenon,  with  its  charming  chateau, 
around  which  cluster  traditions  and  history. 
The  station  is  about  a  mile  from  the  town, 
and  it  is  a  pretty  drive  to  the  Hotel  St. 
Pierre.  The  town  is  situated  on  the  river 
Eure,  though,  like  Dreux  and  Chartres,  it 
is  in  the  Department  of  Eure  et  Loire,  and 
not  in  Normandy.  The  entrance  to  the  cha- 
teau IS  near  the  bridge  over  the  river,  and 
is  adorned  with  the  arms  of  Jean  Cottereau, 

279 


Among  Frerich  Inns 

who  built  it.  He  was  the  royal  treasurer 
during  the  reigns  of  Louis  XL  and  Fran- 
cois L  Louis  XIV.  bought  the  chateau  in 
1685  from  its  owner  the  Marquis  de  Viller- 
nay,  and  gave  it  to  Frangoise  d'Aubigne, 
whom  he  had  secretly  married. 

It  is  thus  that  this  interesting  place  became 
the  abode  of  the  famous  Madame  de  Mainte- 
non,  and  associated  with  her  and  the  history 
of  her  times.  It  was  she  who,  stronger  than 
the  mistresses  who  had  hitherto  held  the 
fancy  of  the  fastidious  Louis  XIV.,  refused 
his  gallantries  until  he  should  have  made  her 
his  wife. 

Every  phase  of  this  intensely  interesting 
period  of  the  court  life  of  France  comes  back 
to  the  visitor  who  treads  the  stones  that  still 
retain  the  glory  of  the  Chateau  de  Mainte- 
non.  It  savours  of  beauty  and  romance,  of 
days  when  the  spirit  of  monarchy  and  mag- 
nificence prevailed.  It  brings  us  nearer  to 
the  character  of  Madame  de  Maintenon 
herself,  and  the  influence  which  she  exerted 
over  Louis  XIV.,  than  does  Versailles.  There 
is  here,  something  more  intimate  and  per- 
sonal, which  brings  her  individuality  vividly 
to  view,  and  shows  the  true  associations  of  her 
home. 

280 


CHATEAU    DE    MAINTENON 


The  Department  of  Orne 

At  her  death  she  bequeathed  the  chateau, 
made  historic  through  her  possession  of  it, 
to  her  nephew  by  marriage,  the  Due  de 
Noailles.  It  has  since  been  owned  by  suc- 
cessive bearers  of  this  distinguished  title,  and 
is  to-day  courteously  opened  to  the  pilgrims 
that  visit  this  shrine  of  royal  favour. 

The  chateau  itself  is  of  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury, and  has  been  considerably  restored 
from  time  to  time,  but  it  is  both  picturesque 
and  beautiful  to  behold,  covered  with  deli- 
cate carving,  and  ornamented  windows  ris- 
ing against  the  roof.  In  some  respects  it  is 
not  unlike  the  Louis  XII.  wing  of  the  Cha- 
teau de  Blois,  being  in  a  similar  style  of 
architecture.  Strangers  are  allowed  to  visit 
the  buildings,  looking  like  stables  or  depen- 
dences, on  the  left  of  the  courtyard,  but  which 
in  reality  contain  a  superb  gallery  of  pictures. 
Here  the  ancestors  of  the  present  Due  de 
Noailles  look  down  from  their  ornamented 
surroundings  upon  those  who  pay  them 
homage. 

In  the  chateau  itself  are  the  bedroom  and 
dining-roorri  which  were  used  by  Madame 
de  Maintenon.  Here  we  are  shown  her 
portrait  by  Mignard,  full  of  force  and  inter- 
est, and  portraying  those  features  so  familiar 

281 


Among  French  Inns 

to  history.    Near  it  is  the  sedan-chair  used  by 
her  during  her  residence  at  Maintenon. 

The  gardens  near  the  chateau  are  delight- 
ful examples  of  the  art  of  Lenotre,  who 
laid  them  out.  The  French  gardens  have  an 
atmosphere  and  beauty  all  their  own.  They 
possess  lovely  statues  of  white  marble,  par- 
terres and  tunnels  of  green,  profusions  of 
flowers  and  straight,  formal  lines,  though 
less  shaded  by  trees  and  shrubs  than  those  of 
Italy  or  England. 

Mr.  Wilton  and  his  daughter  were  de- 
lighted with  what  they  saw  at  Maintenon, 
and  enjoyed  a  drive  in  the  park,  where  they 
found  the  Avenue  Racine,  named  after  the 
poet,  who  made  long  visits  to  this  delight- 
ful abode.  Indeed,  to  Racine  the  charm  of 
Maintenon  was  both  a  pleasure  and  an  in- 
spiration, and  from  it  he  drew  thoughts 
which  appear  in  his  tragedies  of  ''  Esther  " 
and  "  Athalie,"  composed  for  the  young 
ladies  of  St.  Cyr. 

One  of  the  features  of  the  park  at  Mainte- 
non is  the  ruin  of  the  great  aqueduct  built 
by  Louis  XIV.  for  the  purpose  of  bringing 
the  water  from  the  river  Eure  to  Versailles, 
used  in  the  famous  fountains  known  as 
"  Les  Grands  Eaux." 

282 


The  Department  of  Orne 

It  chanced  at  Maintenon  that  Mr.  Wilton 
and  his  daughter  met  two  old  friends,  who 
added  considerably  to  the  pleasure  of  their 
visit.  As  we  are  likely  to  see  something 
more  of  them,  we  may  as  well  disclose  their 
names  in  this  history.  They  were  Mr. 
George  Van  Cortland  and  his  sister  Mary. 
They  were  both  good-looking,  well  bred,  and 
members  of  an  old  New  York  family.  They 
had  left  their  father  and  mother  at  Aix-les- 
Bains,  and  were  taking  a  pleasure-trip 
together. 

They  were  well  known  to  the  Wiltons  and 
the  American,  and  Gladys  was  delighted  to 
see  them. 

"  Why,  Mary,  where  did  you  come  from?  " 
said  Gladys.  "Think  of  our  meeting  here! 
It  is  most  amusing.  I  had  no  idea  that  you 
were  abroad,  George.  How  well  George  is 
looking  since  his  illness!  I  should  never 
know  that  you  had  had  typhoid  fever, 
George.^'  And  Gladys  gave  a  little  laugh, 
which  brought  the  colour  to  her  cheek,  and 
made  her  look  like  a  young  goddess  de- 
scended to  the  park  of  Maintenon  from 
some  region  above  the  earth.  At  least 
George  thought  so  as  he  looked  at  her  in  the 
sunlight. 

283. 


Among  French  Inns 

"  Where  are  you  going,  when  you  leave 
here?"  asked  Mary,  after  the  four  had  ex- 
changed greetings  and  recovered  from  their 
unexpected  meeting. 

"  We  are  going  on  to  Chartres  in  a  day 
or  two,"  said  Mr.  Wilton.  ''  Why  don't 
you  come  along  with  us?  We  could  make  a 
very  jolly  little  party,  couldn't  we?"  he 
added,  turning  to  his  daughter. 

"  Oh,  yes,  do  come,"  said  Gladys.  "  It 
would  be  so  nice  to  have  you  both,  and  then 
we  can  go  back  to  Argentan  together." 

"  Shall  we,  George?  "  said  Mary. 

"  I  see  no  reason  why  we  should  not,"  said 
George.     "  I  think  it  would  be  delightful." 

Mr.  Wilton  liked  George  Van  Cortland. 
He  was  the  kind  of  young  man  that  he  ap- 
proved of.  The  family  to  which  he  belonged 
was  regarded  by  Mr.  Wilton  as  one  of  the 
best  that  there  was  in  America,  and  he  vener- 
ated the  best  there  was  in  America,  much 
more  than  the  best  there  was  in  Europe. 
George  was  athletic,  well  built,  and  hand- 
some. He  was  thoroughly  strenuous,  and  as 
clean  in  character  as  he  was  well  made  in 
physique. 

Mr.  Wilton  liked  this  kind  of  young  man, 
and  then  George  was  a  member  of  the  firm 

284 


The  Department  of  Orne 

of  Van  Cortland  and  Company,  bankers, 
Wall  Street,  and  a  very  active  young  member 
at  that.  Mr.  Wilton  did  business  with  this 
firm,  and  liked  their  junior  partner.  He  was 
genuinely  glad  to  see  him,  and  to  have  him 
and  his  sister  as  travelling  companions. 

They  set  out  from  Maintenon  the  next 
day,  and  journeyed  together  to  Chartres. 
Mr.  Wilton  talked  stocks  with  George,  who 
was  abroad  on  a  short  vacation,  and  the  rest 
of  the  party  had  plenty  to  chat  about.  They 
were  taken  up  with  Paris  fashions  and  private 
gossip  most  of  the  time,  and  it  was  not  long 
before  they  arrived  at  the  station  at  Chartres. 

Maintenon  is  to  the  northeast,  in  the  country 
of  Epernon  and  Rambouillet,  where  the 
President  of  the  Republic  has  an  official 
residence,  with  shooting-preserves.  It  is 
an  attractive  part  of  France,  different  in 
character  from  Normandy,  and  filled  with 
interesting  places  and  associations.  The 
towers  of  its  magnificent  cathedral  dominate 
Chartres  from  the  far  distant  view.  The 
railway  line  from  Le  Mans  to  Paris  passes 
over  a  broad  plain  before  reaching  the  town, 
and  the  towers  appear  at  first  like  tiny  specks 
upon  the  horizon,  and  grow  larger  as  we 
approach,  rising  finally  to  their  actual  height. 

285 


Among  French  Inns 

We  have  reason  to  remember  the  impression 
which  is  to  be  received  from  this  distant 
view  of  the  cathedral  of  Chartres,  from  many 
journeys  over  this  wind-swept  plain,  in 
strong  contrast  with  the  domestic  hills  and 
rolling  scenery  of  Orne  or  Seine  Inferieure. 
It  possesses  a  grandeur  and  eloquence  in 
keeping  with  so  great  a  monument  to  the 
Almighty. 

At  Chartres  we  were  driven  to  the  Hotel  du 
Due  de  Chartres,  appropriately  named  after 
a  member  of  the  royal  family  of  France  who 
bears  this  title.  It  so  happened,  that  with 
our  friends  arrived  a  travelling  circus,  which 
pitched  its  tents  in  close  proximity  to  the 
windows  of  the  hotel,  in  every  other  way 
desirable. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  the  ladies  were 
aroused  by  a  fearful  uproar  and  shouting. 
Mr.  Wilton  was  aroused.  Gladys  was 
aroused.  All  the  occupants  of  the  Hotel  du 
Due  de  Chartres  were  aroused.  Mr.  Wilton 
hurried  to  his  daughter's  room,  clothed  in 
light  attire,  to  see  if  anything  were  wrong. 
The  hall  was  filled  with   frightened   guests. 

"Oh,  monsieur!"  said  one  of  the  men 
servants,  who  was  on  his  return  from  the 
lower  regions,  "Oh,  monsieur!    Lock  your- 

286 


The  Department  of  Orne 

self  into  your  room.  It  is  not  safe  to  be  up. 
One  of  the  lions  of  the  travelling  circus  has 
got  loose.  He  is  hungry,  and  for  all  we 
know,  may  have  eaten  up  a  little  girl." 

Why  the  man  should  imagine  that  the  hun- 
gry lion  might  have  eaten  up  a  little  girl  at 
that  hour  of  the  night,  Mr.  Blodget  Wilton 
did  not  know,  nor  did  George,  whom  he  met 
in  the  hallway,  know  either;  so,  after  assur- 
ing themselves  that  the  ladies  were  safe,  they 
returned  to  their  own  rooms  to  see  the  fun. 

Below  the  window  a  fearful  racket  and 
hubbub  was  taking  place.  Terrified  Gauls 
were  rushing  wildly  about,  calling  upon  the 
saints  to  save  them,  and  endeavouring  to  es- 
cape from  the  lion,  and  to  catch  him,  all  at 
the  same  time.  Some  were  carrying  lassoes, 
others  guns.  One  had  even  armed  himself 
with  a  long  carving-knife,  with  which  he 
hoped  to  pierce  to  the  heart  the  angry  king 
of  beasts.  All,  be  it  said,  were  in  a  com- 
plete state  of  panic,  and  no  one  knew  exactly 
where  the  lion  was  at  the  moment  when  our 
friends  looked  out  of  their  windows. 

Finally  one  of  the  keepers  succeeded  in 
caging  the  wild  animal  in  his  rightful  abode, 
and  the  people  came  forth  once  more,  first 
in  fear  and  trembling,  then  courageously,  at 

287 


Among  French  Inns 

last  with  assurance  and  relief.  They  gathered 
about  the  cage  and  poked  the  lion  through 
the  bars,  while  he,  fatigued  with  his  excur- 
sion to  the  town,  contented  himself  with 
growling  and  showing  his  teeth  whilst  pacing 
up  and  down  the  limited  area  allotted  to  him. 
To  show  his  anger  at  being  thus  confined, 
he  and  his  brethren  of  the  circus  roared  all 
night,  to  the  distraction  of  Mr.  Wilton  and 
the  other  guests  of  the  hotel,  who  were 
vainly  endeavouring  to  snatch  forty  winks 
before  daylight. 

"  I  can't  stand  this,"  said  Mr.  Wilton  the 
next  morning.  "  Either  that  circus  must 
leave  town,  or  I  do.  How  much  will  you 
take  to  get  out?  "  said  he,  later  in  the  day 
through  an  interpreter,  to  the  manager  of 
the  circus.  The  manager  named  a  certain 
sum. 

"Too  large,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  whose 
instinct  always  led  him  to  negotiate  for 
things  under  the  market  price.  "  I'll  give 
you  so  much,"  he  added,  naming  a  figure 
which  was  large  enough  to  make  the  manager 
open  his  eyes.  "  It  is  a  rainy  day,  and  your 
show  isn't  worth  nearly  as  much  to  you  as  the 
sum  I  have  ofiFered,  with  your  seating?;  ca- 
pacity,"   and    Mr.    Wilton    emphasized    his 

288 


The  Department  of  Orne 

remark  by  slapping  his  cheque-book  down 
on  the  table. 

The  manager,  perceiving  the  truth  of  the 
argument,  decided  to  accept,  and  having  been 
duly  informed  of  the  greatness  of  Mr.  Wil- 
ton^s  fortune  and  power,  the  bargain  was 
struck,  and  the  circus  left  town  that  very 
morning,  to  the  astonishment  and  relief  of 
the  citizens  of  Chartres. 

Mr.  Wilton  became  at  once  the  object  of 
public  curiosity  and  concern.  The  local 
paper  published  an  article.  The  inhabitants 
talked  of  nothing  else.  The  man  in  the 
street  knew  of  ""  qe  Monsieur  Wilton  "  and 
his  wonderful  power  of  gold.  He  had 
bought  up  the  entire  circus,  some  said,  and 
given  it  as  a  present  to  the  President  of  the 
Republic.  Was  there  anything  these  rich 
Americans  would  not  do?  They  were  more 
remarkable  than  the  " Lor's  Anglais''  who 
would  come  sometimes  and  take  every  room 
in  the  hotel.  Mr.  Wilton  was  a  hero,  pro 
tern.,  and  the  idol  of  the  Hotel  du  Due  de 
Chartres.  The  mayor  called  upon  him,  and 
invited  him  to  attend  a  banquet  and  subscribe 
to  a  number  of  local  charities.  Mr.  Wilton, 
nothing  loath,  subscribed,  and  became  in  a 


289 


Among  French  Inns 

few  days  little  short  of  a  dictator  in  the  affairs 
of  Chartres. 

But  we  digress  from  our  narrative.  The 
cathedral,  of  course,  dominates  the  town. 
We  will  forego  a  description  of  this  magnifi- 
cent religious  monument,  for  so  familiar  is 
it  to  the  world  at  large  that  any  further 
mention  here  would  be  superfluous.  It  is 
rightly  considered  by  many  to  be  the  most 
beautiful  cathedral  in  existence.  Gladys  and 
the  Van  Cortlands  spent  ideal  days  in  wan- 
dering through  its  interior  and  beneath  its 
noble  vaultings. 

"  It  is  wonderfully  impressive,"  said 
Gladys. 

"  I  think  I  like  it  better  than  any  church  I 
have  been  in,"  said  George,  looking  at  Gladys 
as  she  smiled.  Somehow  Gladys  had  never 
seemed  to  smile  in  just  that  way  before. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  nice  it  is  to  be 
with  Americans  again,"  said  she;  "you  are 
so  different  from  the  foreigners,  George. 
Somehow  I  never  feel  that  they  are  sincere 
when  they  speak,  and  when  we  are  talking 
we  always  understand  just  what  the  other 
feels,  and  we  know  that  it  is  real.  Still,  they 
are  fascinating,  are  they  not,  Mary?  " 

"  They  certainly  are,"  replied  Mary;  "  but 
290 


FIFTEENTH    CENTURY    HOUSE,    CHARTRES 


<  (    ^*  .«^ 


The  Department  of  Orne 

good  gracious,  Gladys,  fancy  marrying  one 
of  them!" 

"  Let  us  go  and  see  the  Maison  de  Loens," 
said  Gladys,  turning  the  conversation  to  an- 
other topic.  '^  It  is  the  old  chapter-house, 
I  believe."  So  they  visited  it,  and  found  it 
a  most  interesting  place,  full  of  the  atmos- 
phere that  pervades  the  sanctified  life  of  the 
cathedral. 

Gladys  seemed  to  enjoy  being  with  George 
Van  Cortland,  and  Mr.  Wilton  observed  with 
pleasure  their  conversation  and  companion- 
ship. He  took  occasion  to  enlarge  upon 
George's  fine  characteristics  that  evening,  and 
to  say  how  much  he  liked  him. 

There  is  an  interesting  Hotel  de  Ville  at 
Chartres,  in  which  there  is  a  museum. 
George  and  Gladys  visited  it  one  afternoon 
together.  As  they  passed  through  some  of 
the  streets  on  their  expedition,  they  found  a 
number  of  delightful  houses  of  the  fifteenth 
and  sixteenth  centuries,  that  brought  back  all 
the  mediaeval  character  which  the  more 
modern  buildings  served  to  do  away  with. 

^'  Do  you  remember,  Gladys,  how  we 
used  to  play  in  Central  Park  as  children?" 
said  George.  "  I  do  not  think  we  have 
really  been  to  walk  alone  together  since." 

291 


Among  French  Inns 

"  Why,  that  is  true,  I  do  not  think  we 
have,"  said  Gladys,  softly;  and  George  felt 
that  he  had  not  realized  before  how  much 
he  had  missed  by  not  making  better  use  of 
his  opportunities. 

"  How  did  you  enjoy  your  winter  last 
year  in  New  York?  "  he  asked.     . 

"  Oh,  very  much,"  answered  his  compan- 
ion. "  But  you  know  I  had  really  been  out  in 
France  before.  It  was  hardly  a  novelty. 
But  I  missed  you  at  the  dances,  George. 
We  felt  so  sorry  that  you  were  ill  all  winter. 
You  look  wonderfully  strong  now,  however. 
I  cannot  realize  that  we  were  ever  anxious 
about  you." 

Gladys  looked  shyly  up  at  the  face  of  her 
stalwart  escort,  and  he  looked  down  into 
hers,  and  a  thrill  passed  through  his  frame 
akin  to  ecstasy.  Was  it  that  love  possessed 
his  soul  in  a  moment,  after  years  of  simple, 
friendly  acquaintance  with  Gladys  Wilton? 
It  is  difficult  for  us  to  say,  it  was  so  strange 
and  sudden  a  sensation. 

These  moments  come  to  men  unexpectedly, 
and  take  them  so  unawares  that  it  is  not 
possible  to  pause  and  analyze  the  thought 
which  holds  them  spellbound  and  enslaves 
their  being  in  a  holy  rapture,   lifting  them 

292 


The  Department  of  Orne 

from  the  common  light  of  day  into  the  atmos- 
phere of  heaven.  For  love  cometh  from 
heaven,  and  is  a  gift  of  the  gods.  And  sud- 
denly life  is  changed  into  a  miracle  of  joy. 

Thus,  in  the  magic  air  of  sunny  France, 
fanned  by  the  soft  winds  that  blow  over  its 
plains  and  forests  and  its  ornamented 
shrines  of  God,  did  George  Van  Cortland 
realize  that  he  loved  this  friend  of  early 
childhood.  In  the  charmed  atmosphere  of 
love,  unheralded,  unsought,  untold,  he  was 
at  first  as  one  intoxicated  with  unreasonable 
joy. 

And  Gladys?  What  was  the  meaning  of 
those  laughing  eyes,  the  flashes  of  excitement, 
the  colour  rising  to  her  face?  It  might  be 
merely  the  tenderness  of  old  acquaintance. 
A  woman's  heart  is  not  so  easy  to  discern. 
She  shields  her  holier  thoughts  behind  a 
cloak  of  maidenly  concern,  and  holds  him 
at  a  distance  who  would  approach  too  swiftly. 
So  it  seemed  wise  to  George  to  wait,  and, 
if  possible,  control  his  natural  desire  to  speak 
out,  and  learn  what  fate  decreed  should  be 
his  rightful  end. 

That  they  saw  little  of  the  musee  and  the 
Hotel  de  Ville  at  Chartres,  may  scarcely  be 


293 


Among  French  Inns 

wondered  at  by  those  who  know  the  secret 
in  the  hearts  of  these  two  lovers. 

The  following  day  the  party  of  five  left 
Chartres  and  took  the  train  to  Nogent,  on 
the  southeastern  boundary  of  Normandy. 
Reentering  it,  they  passed  on  to  Mortagne 
and  thence  to  Alengon,  the  capital  of  the 
Department  of  Orne.  There  is  a  forest  to 
the  east  of  Mortagne,  south  of  which  is  the 
Chateau  de  la  Veve.  The  monastery  of  La 
Grande  Trappe  is  also  in  this  region,  and 
well  merits  a  visit.  The  town  of  Alengon 
is  on  the  southern  boundary  of  Orne,  at  about 
its  centre.  The  best  hotel  is,  need  we  say, 
the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf,  a  very  comfortable 
place  to  stay  in.  The  town  is  historically 
interesting,  having  been  taken  by  William 
the  Conqueror  as  early  as  1296.  It  was  here 
that  the  famous  incident  occurred,  in  which 
the  defenders  beat  their  skins  and  leather 
garments  against  the  walls  of  the  town,  cry- 
ing, "Hides,  hides  for  the  tanner!''  The 
Conqueror  never  forgave  this  insult  to  his 
birth,  and  swore  "  by  the  splendour  of  God  " 
to  be  avenged  upon  the  defenders.  We  may 
well  imagine  the  punishment  which  was 
meted  out  to  them  when  he  took  possession 
of  their  stronghold. 

294 


The  Department  of  Orne 

We  find  this  region  as  rich  in  old  tradi- 
tions and  legendary  lore,  as  are  those  parts 
which  we  have  already  visited  in  architec- 
ture. The  latter  seems  to  bear  an  odd 
resemblance,  in  its  character,  to  the  country 
itself.  There  are  in  both  the  most  active,  the 
most  sudden  variations.  At  one  moment  we 
are  on  an  arid  plain,  swept  by  the  wind  and 
dust  and  surrounded  by  brown  fields.  At 
the  next,  we  are  in  a  fertile  valley.  At 
one  place  a  church  appears,  so  overloaded 
with  flamboyant  or  Renaissance  ornamenta- 
tion that  it  seems  scarcely  able  to  stand  be- 
neath its  weight  of  riches.  At  the  next  we 
come  upon  an  abbey  or  a  chateau  of  Norman 
architecture,  so  bare  of  decoration  that  it 
seems  desolate  and  dull. 

These  contrasts  were  hardly  noticed  by 
George  Van  Cortland  during  the  trip  from 
Chartres  to  Alengon.  He  was  too  engrossed 
in  the  revelation  of  love  to  his  soul,  to  think 
of  anything  but  its  eflfect  upon  himself  and 
the  object  of  his  passion.  He  realized,  in- 
deed, for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  that  he 
possessed  a  soul,  and  what  the  soul  may  be 
when  once  it  has  been  touched  by  love. 

There  was,  however,  little  chance  for  him 
to  learn  whether  Gladys   realized   also   the 

295 


Among  French  Inns 

deep  feeling  which  had  so  suddenly  taken  pos- 
session of  him,  and  made  him  half-man,  half- 
slave  to  this  young  girl,  whom  he  had  never 
regarded  in  any  other  light  than  as  a  passing 
friend.  But  yet  how  soon  doth  love  replace 
the  brotherly  regard,  and  make  the  selfsame 
object  hold  us,  in  desire  to  obtain  the  heart 
of  her  who  now  becomes  the  idol  of  our  life! 
How  often  have  men  scoffed  at  Love,  and 
laughed  away  his  subtle  arts,  and  then  cried 
out  for  mercy  when  once  wounded  by  his 
dart! 

There  is  a  church  at  Alengon  called  Notre 
Dame,  which  possesses  in  its  portal  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  examples  of  the  flam- 
boyant period  that  has  found  its  way  as 
far  south  as  this.  The  elaborate  work  char- 
acterizing this  portion  of  the  church  is  in 
striking  contrast  to  the  uneducated  taste  dis- 
played in  its  tower  and  its  choir.  Here  that 
strange  and  sudden  variance,  of  which  we 
have  spoken,  is  concentrated  in  a  single 
monument. 

George  and  Gladys  made  a  visit  to  the 
church  the  day  after  their  arrival  at  Alen- 
gon.  Mr.  Wilton  was  busy  over  some  cor- 
respondence, and  Mary  had  a  convenient 
headache,  so  that  the  two  were  left  alone. 

296 


The  Department  of  Orne 

It  was  the  first  opportunity  George  had  had 
since  they  were  at  Chartres,  and  when  once 
they  were  together,  he  found  himself  almost 
abashed  in  the  presence  of  his  love.  To 
pour  out  his  heart's  desire,  and  clasp  her  in 
his  arms,  was  his  first  thought,  but  when  he 
wished  to  do  so  something  seemed  to  hold 
him  back  and  forbid  his  speaking. 

"  Is  not  this  a  beautiful  piece  of  carving?  " 
said  Gladys.  ''  It  is  almost  like  lace  in  its 
elaborate  delicacy.  By  the  way,  we  must  visit 
the  lace  establishment  here,  and  get  some 
of  the  famous  '  point  d'Alengon.'  " 

They  were  driven  to  the  place  where  this 
beautiful  lace  is  made,  and  where  thousands 
of  women  are  employed.  Gladys  was  inter- 
ested in  the  details  of  the  lace-making  and  in 
the  lives  of  the  women  who  were  thus  em- 
ployed, while  George  found  comfort  and 
pleasure  in  buying  a  superb  veil  and  pre- 
senting it  to  her. 

Perhaps  he  wondered,  if  some  day  she 
might  not  wear  it  to  adorn  her  hair,  as  he 
led  her  in  bridal  robes  to  the  altar,  to  become 
his  wife.  How  can  we  tell,  who  are  only 
half-admitted  to  the  confidence  of  these  two 
lovers?  The  hours  thus  spent  were  exquisite 
to  George.    He  seemed  to  be  half  in  dream- 

2Q7 


Among  French  Inns 

land  and  half  on  earth,  and  Gladys  the  god- 
dess of  some  Olympian  grove. 

Her  smiles,  her  confidences  to  him  of  her- 
self, were  treasures  that  he  held  in  after- 
years,  and  looked  back  upon  with  joy.  We 
have  even  heard  him  say,  in  later  life,  that 
France  has  been  for  him  since  then  a  sort 
of  fairy-land  that  held  a  sentiment  which 
nothing  could  destroy,  whatever  else  went 
from  him  in  his  life. 

What  is  there  on  earth  more  satisfying 
than  romantic  love,  made  manifest  in  youth, 
and  consummated  in  the  union  of  two  souls? 
Nothing  takes  its  place.  No  pain  can  dim 
its  joys.  No  sorrow  or  despair  destroy  the 
fragrance  of  its  truth. 

And  Gladys?  How  was  she  impressed  by 
these  unfettered  signs  of  love  in  the  spirit  of 
her  childhood's  friend,  now  met  in  early 
womanhood?  As  she  looked  up  into  those 
eyes,  that  showed  only  .too  plainly  the  truth 
and  honesty  of  the  affection  in  the  man  be- 
hind them,  all  the  inclination  of  her  nature 
to  flirt  and  temporize  with  those  who  sought 
her  hand  was  taken  from  her.  Love,  in  a 
moment,  transformed  the  wayward,  frivo- 
lous girl  into  a  woman.  And  she  realized 
what  affection  of  this  kind  might  be. 

298 


The  Department  of  Orne 

George  had  certainly  been  fascinating  to  her 
during  the  last  days.  It  must  be  that  he  cared 
for  her.  But  how  did  he  care  for  her?  Was 
it  really  love?  That  she  cared  for  him  she 
knew;  but  how?  Such  were  the  questions 
which  came  to  the  mind  of  Gladys  Wilton 
during  this  day  which  they  spent  enjoying 
the  sights  of  Alengon. 

Two  great  towers  arise  near  the  Hotel 
de  Ville,  remains  of  the  ancient  chateau; 
and  they  paused  to  admire  and  remark  upon 
them.  George  stood  beside  her,  so  close 
that  he  nearly  touched  her,  and  as  the  two 
looked  up  at  the  stern,  circular  walls  of  the 
tower,  she  began  to  realize  how  great  a  place 
this  man  had  taken  in  her  heart.  Still,  she 
doubted  herself,  so  uncertain  was  she  of  her 
own  love  and  the  knowledge  of  her  true 
feelings. 

Suddenly  George  spoke.  "  I  hope  you  are 
not  tired,  Gladys." 

"  How  could  I  be,  George,  with  you 
here?" 

The  words  fell  so  unexpectedly  she  hardly 
realized  what  was  said,  and  when  she  had 
said  them,  wished  she  had  not.  But  it  was 
too  late.  George  had  caught  the  spirit  of  the 
remark,  and,  borne  by  the  fire  of  his  love, 

299 


Among  French  Inns 

exclaimed,  "  Gladys,  do  you  really  mean 
it?  Is  it  true,  or  am  I  dreaming?  Gladys, 
I  love  you,  I  adore  you.  I  cannot  keep  it 
back.  You  have  taken  me  out  of  myself,  my 
love!  Say  that  you  are  not  angry  with  me, 
and  tell  me,  oh,  tell  me,  that  you  love  me 
also." 

There  was  not  time  to  hesitate  or  retreat. 
Had  she  not  called  it  upon  herself?  Gladys 
felt  that  she  was  being  carried  away  and 
overwhelmed  by  the  current  of  love,  which 
swept  these  two  toward  one  another. 

"  George,"  she  said,  softly,  half-daring  to 
say  the  words,  "  George,  I  love  you." 

They  were  in  the  shadow  of  the  great 
tower  now,  unseen  by  any  one,  and  with  an 
exclamation  of  joy,  George  Van  Cortland 
clasped  his  loved  one  in  his  arms.  But  one 
word  sealed  the  kiss  which  he  imprinted  on 
her  brow  —  '*  Sweetheart!"  —  yet,  echoing  a 
thousand  times  in  her  soul,  it  told  more  than 
we  can  ever  tell  of  true  love,  nobly  crowned 
and  won. 

Oh,  that  all  lovers  might  be  so  blessed  of 
the  gods  as  to  achieve  without  more  grief 
the  consummation  of  their  great  desire! 

Oh,  that  the  world  were  made  of  hearts 
entwined   as   these,   and   free   from   sorrows, 

300 


The  Department  of  Orne 

that  tear  in  twain  the  lives  of  men  and  women 
worthy  of  a  happier  end!  Let  us  write  of 
them  in  our  books,  and  sing  congratulations 
in  our  verse,  and  exhort  the  world  to  follow 
in  their  train.  Yet  nature  holds  the  sceptre, 
governing  this  kingdom  of  the  heart,  and 
bears  with  her  the  travesty  of  love  when 
lovers  disagree,  or  love  in  man  is  unrecipro- 
cated by  a  like  passion  in  woman. 

The  feeling  of  an  infinite  happiness  so 
possessed  George  and  Gladys,  that  they  cared 
little  what  they  saw  or  did.  To  be,  was 
enough  for  them,  and  to  bathe  in  the  beauty 
of  each  other's  love  gave  life,  for  them,  its 
full  completion  and  accord.  They  decided 
to  keep  their  love  a  secret  for  a  few  days, 
in  order  to  enjoy,  in  freedom  from  the  stir 
its  knowledge  would  create,  the  full  enjoy- 
ment of  their  happiness;  and  so  they  re- 
turned to  the  hotel,  apparently  the  same,  but 
yet  how  different  at  heart!  So  Love  doth 
metamorphose  the  soul  of  man,  or  woman, 
with  his  coming! 

The  following  day  they  all  left  Alengon 
and  made  a  beautiful  excursion  to  the  Cha- 
teau de  Carrouges,  passing  through  a  forest, 
fairylike  in  its  growth  and  appropriate  to  the 
mood   of   lovers.     Carrouges   is   one   of   the 

301 


Among  French  Inns 

most  important  as  well  as  one  of  the  largest 
chateaux  in  Orne.  It  is  a  notable  example 
of  the  less  ornate  monuments  of  this  portion 
of  France.  Although  almost  every  century 
from  the  fourteenth  to  the  eighteenth  has 
left  something  to  add  to  the  vast  proportions 
of  the  mass  of  buildings,  the  result  is  rather 
sad  and  bare.  The  chief  ornamentation  is 
toward  the  roofs  and  on  the  towers  at  the 
corners.  Moats  surround  its  walls,  and  a 
bridge  leads  to  the  doorway  of  the  chateau. 
The  first  view  which  the  party  obtained, 
through  a  beautiful  Renaissance  iron  gate, 
is  one  of  the  most  agreeable. 

Mr.  Wilton  thought  Carrouges  rather 
gloomy,  and  Mary  shared  this  view;  but  to 
George  and  Gladys  everything,  seen  through 
lovers'  eyes,  was  roseate  in  hue  and  touched 
with  beauty.  One  of  the  most  attractive 
portions  of  the  chateau  is  the  pavilion  over 
the  entrance,  separated  from  the  building 
itself.  This  is  of  great  beauty  of  design,  and 
is  crowned  by  gracefully  pointed  towers  and 
roofs;  its  delicate  points,  its  windows  with 
ornamented  caps,  its  differently  coloured 
bricks,  recall  the  graceful  style  of  the  fif- 
teenth century. 

The  apartments  in  the  interior  of  the  cha- 
302 


The  Department  of  Orne 

teau  have  little  left  of  their  former  splendour. 
That  where  Louis  XL  must  have  slept  when 
on  his  way  to  Alengon,  is  remarkable  only 
for  a  vast  chimneypiece  and  some  gilded 
woodwork.  Marie  de  Medici  is  reported 
to  have  used  this  room  also,  some  centuries 
later.  The  Seigneurs  of  Carrouges,  of 
Veneur,  and  of  Blosset,  who  have  succes- 
sively owned  the  chateau,  have  figured  in  the 
most  prominent  affairs  of  both  Church  and 
state.  But  we  regret  that  time  does  not 
permit  us  to  enter  into  the  histories  of  these 
interesting  families. 

On  leaving  Carrouges,  our  friends  took  a 
long  and  beautiful  drive  toward  the  north- 
east, to  the  famous  Chateau  d'O,  near  Mon- 
tree.  The  whole  country  seemed  tinged  with 
the  atmosphere  of  romance.  Mr.  Wilton  and 
the  rest  of  the  party  suspected  that  some 
understanding  had  been  reached  by  George 
and  Gladys,  and  were  more  than  delighted 
at  the  subtle  evidences,  which  they  were 
unable  to  hide  during  the  drive,  of  an  attach- 
ment so  natural  and  healthy  that  there  was  no 
concealing  from  these  sympathetic  compan- 
ions what  was  taking  place. 

At  the  Chateau  d'O  they  were  allowed 
to  wander  off  by  themselves,   and  to  enjoy 

303 


Among  French  Inns 

those  exquisite  and  treasured  moments,  of 
which  lovers  alone  know  the  value.  In  these 
ideal  surroundings  how  can  the  affections 
be  restrained  when  they  have  once  been 
allowed  to  venture  upon  the  sea  of  love? 
As  if  made  for  love  are  these  gardens  and 
parks  surrounding  the  chateaux  of  France. 
The  French  give  themselves  over  to  the 
tender  passion  with  a  willingness  and  enthu- 
siasm almost  unknown  elsewhere.  Their 
mental  attitude  is  full  of  poetry,  and  so  are 
the  pleasure-grounds  which  they  have  created 
as  a  setting  to  it  in  past  centuries. 

The  Chateau  d'O,  which  is  one  of  the 
large  and  important  places  of  Orne,  arises 
out  of  watery  moats  in  the  centre  of  a  magnif- 
icent park.  Its  graceful  exterior,  its  loftiness 
and  dignity,  make  it  almost  ecclesiastical  in 
effect.  The  oldest  and  the  most  noticeable 
portion  of  the  chateau  is  said  to  have  been 
built  by  Isabeau  de  Baviere,  upon  land  given 
her  by  the  King  of  England;  but  it  is  prob- 
ably of  the  fifteenth  century.  There  is  an 
irregularity  in  the  arrangement  of  the  win- 
dows, nay,  an  absence  of  them  almost  in 
some  places,  which  gives  to  the  exterior  a 
curious  effect.  It  is  a  combination  of  stern- 
ness and  delicacy,  of  lightness  and  force,  at 

304 


The  Department  of  Orne 

once  engaging  and  impressive.  It  was  for 
long  the  possession  of  the  famous  family  of 
the  individual  O.  The  last  D'O  w^as  director 
of  finances  to  Henry  III.  and  Henry  IV., 
and  was  one  of  the  mignons  of  the  former. 

George  and  Gladys  wandered  in  and 
around  the  walls  of  the  chateau,  bending 
over  the  stone  balustrade  above  the  moat  in 
ideal  and  blissful  happiness.  Once  he  bent 
down,  in  the  shadows  of  the  park,  and  whis- 
pered in  her  ear,  "My  love!"  —  and  kissed 
her,  —  and  she,  looking  at  him,  felt  that  she 
must  surely  love  this  man  who  so  embodied 
everything  that  was  to  her  ideal. 

How  the  thought  of  Trouville,  ar^d  all 
those  there,  seemed  far  away  and  uninter- 
esting to  her,  now  that  she  had  found  in 
happiness  an  ideal  too  beautiful  to  describe. 
The  thought  of  Count  Raoul  de  Breville  was 
to  her  almost  revolting,  and  she  could  think 
of  the  duchess  only  as  associated  with  that 
incident.  Then  her  mind  recurred  to  the 
ardent  Count  Romeo,  to  the  spaghetti  party 
at  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf,  Les  Andelys, 
and  it  all  seemed  so  ridiculous,  so  much  the 
travesty  of  love,  when  compared  to  this 
ideal  hour. 

"  My  angel,"  whispered  George,  as  he 
305 


Among  French  Inns 

bent  down  toward  her,  '*  tell  me  once  more 
that  you  love  me,  —  again,  Gladys,  once 
again.  It  is  almost  too  much  happiness  for 
one  man  to  possess.  I  hardly  feel  worthy  of 
so  great  a  prize.  It  seems  almost  holy  in 
its  wonderful  impression  upon  me." 

"  George,"  said  Gladys,  leaning  against 
his  arm  and  holding  his  hand  in  hers,  ''  you 
are  to  me  all  the  world  and  every  one  in  it. 
Everything  falls  before  the  greatness  of  your 
power  to  make  me  happy.  To  have  you 
with  me  is  enough.  Why  should  I  not 
acknowledge  it,  now  that  we  are  engaged  to 
each  other?  It  is  true,  and  I  should  not  be 
true  to  myself  if  I  denied  it." 

And  thus  they  wandered  back  to  the  others 
through  the  shadowy  alleys  of  the  park, 
while  George  kept  repeating  in  his  mind  the 
refrain : 

Let  all  the  world  keep  holiday  with  thee. 
And  hie  in  summer's  smiles  to  Normandy. 

It  seemed  to  have  become  the  love-motif 
of  his  stay  here,  and  to  typify  the  spirit  of 
his  mood.  He  repeated  it  to  Gladys,  and 
she  kept  it  in  her  heart  and  treasured  it. 
Love  seemed  suddenly  to  develop  hidden 
mysteries  in  her  nature  hitherto  unknown  to 

306 


The  Department  of  Orne 

herself,  and  the  romantic  atmosphere  of 
France  brought  them  to  the  surface.  Words 
and  thoughts  that  to  the  uninitiated  seem 
but  follies,  become  natural  expressions  when 
love  takes  complete  possession  of  the  heart. 

Men  and  women,  under  the  cardinal  in- 
fluence of  love,  are  not  as  others,  and  may 
not  be  judged  as  they  are.  They  are  subject 
to  different  laws  and  impulses.  When  all 
goes  well,  they  are  lifted  to  the  skies  and 
breathe  the  air  of  the  gods.  When  love  is 
baffled  or  disturbed,  they  pass  through  "  the 
valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,"  and  torture 
holds  them  in  her  painful  embrace.  They 
are  maddened  with  desire,  with  ideals  unful- 
filled, a  promise  of  happiness  held  out  by 
Nature,  and  revoked.  They  are,  indeed, 
to  be  pitied. 

Mercifully  these  two  lovers  had  not  fallen 
into  this  category.  Why  they  should  have 
been  so  favoured  by  fate  and  blessed  of  the 
gods,  we  may  not  explain.  But  such  they 
were,  and  as  such,  we  have  been  privileged 
to  accompany  them,  and  to  portray  something 
of  their  joy  and  blessedness. 

The  country  near  Montree  and  Almene- 
ches  is  rich  in  beautiful  places  and  chateaux. 
Besides    those    already   described,    there    are 

307 


Among  French  Inns 

the  superb  Chateau  de  Sacy,  the  residence 
of  the  late  Due  d'Audiffret-Pasquier,  and  the 
fifteenth-century  Chateau  of  Clerai.  Sees, 
with  its  interesting  cathedral,  is  near  by,  and 
farther  to  the  north  the  famous  Haras  du 
Pin,  founded  as  a  royal  stock-farm  by  Louis 
XIV.  Its  chateau  and  view  are  charming, 
its  extensive  buildings  and  stables  interest- 
ing, and  its  noble  avenues  and  trees  in  keep- 
ing with  the  magnificence  of  its  founder. 
It  is  here  that  the  government  to-day  breeds 
some  of  the  finest  Norman  horses. 

Mr.  Wilton  was  extremely  interested  in 
the  Haras,  and  asked  no  end  of  questions 
of  the  young  officer  who  showed  the  party 
over  it,  and  who  could  mercifully  speak 
English;  for  Mr.  Blodget  Wilton  was  not  an 
adept  in  French.  He  was  thinking  of  his 
place  on  Long  Island,  and  taking  in  a  great 
many  practical  ideas,  to  be  transplanted  to 
American  soil. 

And  so  on  to  Argentan.  What  form  of 
excursion  more  delightful  than  to  pass 
through  this  picturesque  and  romantic 
scenery  of  France,  in  love,  engaged  to  the 
object  of  our  choice?  Truly,  we  have  no 
cause  to  complain,  if  the  gods  permit  us  to 
do  likewise.    It  was  no  use  keeping  the  thing 

308 


The  Department  of  Orne 

a  secret  any  longer  from  our  party.  We  had 
already  found  out  what  was  going  on,  and 
as  we  were  all  to  be  together  for  some  days, 
Gladys  and  George  decided  to  tell  us  of 
their  engagement. 

It  was  hardly  a  surprise,  but  Mary  af- 
fected to  be  very  much  taken  off  her  guard, 
and  Mr.  Wilton  was  in  the  greatest  excite- 
ment and  spirits  over  the  afifair.  He  gave  his 
unqualified  blessing  to  both  the  young  people, 
and  promised  to  do  everything  to  make 
them  happy.  He  ordered  a  wonderful  din- 
ner at  the  Hotel  des  Trois  Maries,  at  Argen- 
tan,  which  kept  the  whole  establishment  in 
a  state  of  preparation  all  the  afternoon,  on 
the  day  of  our  arrival.  He  toasted  his 
daughter  and  future  son-in-law  in  a  wonder- 
ful bottle  of  vintage  wine,  and  went  off  to 
bed  in  a  distinct  state  of  hilarity,  kissing 
every  one  good  night,  including  Mary. 

Perhaps  his  greatest  triumph  was  that  he 
had  circumvented  the  intrigues  of  the  duch- 
ess and  the  foreigners  and  the  tendencies  of 
Mrs.  Wilton.  That  he  had  been  the  means 
of  bringing  the  young  people  together,  and 
that  the  courtship  and  betrothal  had  taken 
place  under  his  auspices,  was  to  him  so  de- 
lightful that  he  never  really  recovered  from 

309 


Among  French  Inns 

it  to  his  dying  day.  Whatever  the  social 
successes  of  his  wife,  he  had  always  this 
feather  in  his  cap,  that  he  had  been  the  one 
to  settle  his  daughter  in  life. 

^'  Go  it,  my  boy,  go  it,"  he  said  to  George, 
slapping  him  on  the  back.  "  You  can't  be 
young  but  once.  Enjoy  it  while  you  can. 
Make  the  best  of  it.  We'll  have  a  bang-up 
wedding  in  New  York  in  November.  And 
I'll  buy  up  a  whole  cuvee  of  '89  champagne 
in  Paris  for  the  occasion.  We'll  show  'em 
what  we  can  do  in  the  way  of  a  wedding, 
I  tell  you!"  And  Mr.  Blodget  Wilton 
trotted  ofip  to  bed,  the  happiest  man  in  the 
world,  after  George  Van  Cortland,  who 
must,  of  course,  be  excepted,  being  a  trifle 
happier  than  any  other  human  being  at  that 
particular  moment. 

They  remained  at  Argentan,  and  made 
excursions  every  day  to  the  chateaux  in  the 
neighbourhood.  Argentan  itself  is  delight- 
ful. The  Hotel  des  Trois  Maries  is  very 
comfortable;  and  they  were  all  as  happy 
there  as  the  day  is  long.  The  Church  of  St. 
Germain  is  a  magnificent,  flamboyant  struc- 
ture. It  dates  from  the  fifteenth  to  the 
seventeenth  century,  and  its  Renaissance 
towers  and  portal  are  rich,  in  decoration. 

310 


The  Department  of  Orne 

The  old  Chateau  of  Argentan  is  a  pictur- 
esque monument,  now  used  as  public  offices, 
and  the  Tour  Marguerite  is  an  interesting 
sentinel,  remaining  from  the  old  fortifica- 
tions. Northeast  of  Argentan,  and  near 
Fel,  are  the  Chateaux  of  Chambois  and 
Aubry.  They  are  not  far  apart,  and  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Exmes.  Chambois  is  of 
the  twelfth  century,  and  a  beautiful  specimen 
of  the  old  feudal  fortress,  partly  ruined. 
The  Chateau  d'Aubry,  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  rises  sternly  from  surrounding 
water,  but  it  possesses  the  chimneys  and  other 
attributes  which  denote  a  later  period  of 
architecture.  Its  surroundings  are  pictur- 
esque in  the  extreme. 

Another  day  was  spent  in  visiting  the 
Chateau  de  la  Saucerie,  near  Domfront,  to 
the  westward.  It  is  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, and  of  a  delightfully  rustic  and  pictur- 
esque appearance.  On  their  return  the  happy 
party  bade  farewell  to  the  Hotel  des  Trois 
Maries  and  its  kind  hosts  (who  had,  we  fear, 
found  out  the  secret  of  our  two  lovers),  and 
journeyed  toward  Falaise,  visiting  on  the 
way  the  Chateau  de  la  Foret-d'Auvray,  and 
the  Castel  du  Repas,  beautiful  abodes  near 


Jii 


Among  French  Inns 

Putange,  and  about  midway  between  Argen- 
tan  and  Falaise. 

With  this  an  ideal  trip,  in  and  out  of  the 
Department  of  Orne,  was  completed,  and 
our  friends  passed  on  into  Calvados. 


312 


CHAPTER  X 

AT    THE    HOTEL    DE    GUILLAUME    LE 
CONQUERANT 

Dives 

In  the  compartment  of  the  train  on  which 
our  party  journeyed  to  Falaise  was  a  culti- 
vated and  interesting  Frenchman,  who  soon 
entered  into  conversation  with  us.  On  learn- 
ing that  we  had  been  to  Argentan,  and  had 
seen  the  Church  of  St.  Germain,  he  told  us 
a  legend  concerning  an  old  bell  there. 

The  legend  runs  as  follows:  A  certain 
Jacques  Gautier  Dumontel,  the  son  of  a 
merchant  of  Paris,  was  travelling  toward 
Argentan  one  evening.  It  chanced  to  be 
Whitsunday,  the  day  of  the  fair  at  Argentan. 
His  road  led  through  the  forest  of  Gouffern, 
and  while  he  was  in  the  midst  of  it  the  shad- 
owy form  of  a  beautiful  woman,  half- 
clothed,  appeared  before  his  horse.  He  rode 
after  her,  but  the  vision,  or  phantom,  was 
always   the   same   distance   in   advance.     At 

313 


Among  French  Inns 

last,  in  the  midst  of  his  chase,  a  voice  cried 
out  near  him:  "The  third  merchant  of 
Paris  is  in  our  hands."  He  looked  in  the 
direction  of  the  voice  and  perceived  the 
forms  of  three  men  crouching  about  a  fire  in 
the  forest,  and  drinking  from  silver  goblets. 
One  of  them  bore  a  resemblance  to  the  cruel 
Abdalla  of  Spain,  of  whom  Dumontel  had 
heard  at  the  time  that  he  followed  Dugues- 
clin  into  that  country. 

Thinking  himself  to  be  in  the  hands  of 
some  evil  spirits  who  had  entrapped  him 
through  the  allurements  of  the  beautiful 
vision,  Dumontel  was  seized  with  a  sudden 
fear.  He  gave  the  reins  to  his  horse,  and, 
urging  him  forward  with  his  spurs,  he  rode 
about  in  the  forest  for  a  long  time,  endeavour- 
ing to  escape. 

At  last  a  bell  in  the  distance  began  to  toll, 
and  enabled  him  to  find  his  way  safely  to 
Argentan.  On  arriving  there  he  told  his 
adventure  to  his  friends,  who  listened  to  his 
story  with  interest,  and  endeavoured  to  con- 
vince him  that  the  whole  matter  was  due 
to  his  disordered  fancy.  He  was,  however, 
so  affected  by  his  experience,  that  when  he 
returned  to  Paris  his  first  act  was  to  purchase 
the    most   beautiful    bell    that   money    could 

3H 


Hotel  de  Guillaume  le  Conquerant 

buy,  and  send  it  as  a  gift  to  the  Church  of 
St.  Germain  at  Argentan.  It  remained  there 
until  1793,  when  it  was  destroyed  by  the 
Revolution.  It  has  been  replaced  since  then 
by  another  bell,  which,  like  its  predecessor, 
rings  annually  upon  the  eve  of  the  fair  at 
Argentan,  and  doubtless  directs  many  an 
honest  merchant  on  his  way  through  the 
heart  of  the  forest. 

Mr.  Wilton  was  interested  in  the  legend, 
and  conversed  at  some  length  with  the 
French  gentleman,  who  spoke  excellent  Eng- 
lish. The  world  is  small,  after  all,  and  be- 
fore arriving  we  discovered  that  our  travel- 
ling acquaintance  was  the  Vicomte  de  Brebis, 
an  intimate  friend  of  the  duchess  and  of 
every  one  else  in  Trouville.  Of  course  he 
had  heard  of  the  something  that  had  occurred 
there,  though  he  did  not  let  the  chief  actors 
in  this  drama  know  it.  He  was  inclined  to 
tell  us  a  great  deal  about  Normandy  and  its 
customs. 

"  Although  there  are  many  points  of  inter- 
est in  the  people,"  said  he,  ^'  perhaps  their 
most  curious  characteristic  is  their  love  of 
lawsuits.  It  exists  in  all  classes  and  under 
all  conditions.  To  go  to  law  is  enough  to 
make  a  Norman  of  this   region  happy  for 

315 


Among  French  Inns 

the  rest  of  his  natural  existence.  To  have 
even  the  most  petty  excuse  suffices  for  the 
opening  of  legal  proceedings,  that  last  for 
an  interminable  length  of  time,  and  do  very 
little  good  to  anybody  but  the  lawyer  or  the 
notary. 

"  I  once  knew  a  lady,"  continued  Mon- 
sieur de  Brebis,  "  who  told  me  with  great 
pride  that  she  had  only  two  lawsuits  as 
yet  unsettled,  and  on  inquiring  about  them, 
I  discovered  that  one  was  with  her  father 
and  the  other  with  her  son.  I  expressed  sur- 
prise, but  she  seemed  to  think  it  was  per- 
fectly natural.  The  Normans  are  always 
at  law.  A  family  of  peasants  will  quarrel 
over  a  piece  of  land  for  fifty  years,  and  they 
will  have  the  most  bitter  controversy  and 
jealousy  about  a  clause  of  a  will  or  a  paper, 
which   conveys   only   an   imaginary   benefit." 

Thus  the  whole  party  arrived  at  Falaise, 
the  interesting  town  which  was  the  birth- 
place of  William  the  Conqueror.  We  have 
seen  at  Rouen  the  spot  where  his  last  hours 
upon  earth  were  passed.  Here  was  the  open- 
ing of  his  life,  the  beginning  of  his  remark- 
able career.  Yonder,  in  the  castle  of  which 
we  now  observe  the  picturesque  remains, 
fortified  by   Richard,   Duke   of  Normandy, 

316 


Hotel  de  Guillaume  le  Conquerant 

his  son  Robert  le  Diable  looked  down  from 
the  heights,  and  fell  in  love  with  Arlette 
(the  daughter  of  a  tanner),  who  was  wash- 
ing in  the  stream  below. 

She  was  warned  by  her  advisers  not  to 
enter  the  castle  in  response  to  the  seductive 
entreaties  of  her  royal  lover,  save  by  the  great 
door.  But  though  she  eventually  followed 
this  good  counsel,  a  son  William  was  born 
out  of  wedlock.  At  his  birth  he  seized  the 
straw  on  which  he  lay  with  such  tenacity, 
that  it  has  been  quoted  as  an  omen  of  his 
life,  that  he  never  allowed  to  slip  from  him 
that  which  he  had  once  grasped  in  his  hands. 

He  was  known  as  William  the  Bastard. 
At  seven  years  of  age  he  inherited  the  Duchy 
of  Normandy  from  his  father,  and  later 
became  the  Conqueror  of  England,  marking 
the  turning-point  in  English  history. 

"  Ces  messieurs  et  ces  dames  devraient 
awllez  au  chawteau/^  said  an  old  woman,  in 
her  funny  drawl,  outside  the  Hotel  de  Nor- 
mandie,  where  we  had  stopped  over  night. 
And  we  proceeded  to  visit  it.  We  were 
immensely  interested.  For  it  is  one  of 
the  most  important  of  the  feudal  castles 
of  France,  and  surrounded  by  a  history 
that    is    second    to    none.      Its    grim    walls 

317 


Among  French  Inns 

tell  of  the  days  of  the  Conqueror  and  the 
Dukes  of  Normandy,  of  the  rise  of  the  family 
of  Arlette  to  royal  favour,  of  Talbot,  and 
of  Henry  V.  of  England.  They  stand  as  the 
silent  reminders  of  the  origin  of  states,  the 
turning-point  of  nations,  the  creation  of  an 
era  in  history. 

Below  it,  in  the  Place  de  la  Trinite,  arises 
the  modern  statue  of  the  Conqueror  upon  his 
charger,  challenging  the  world  to  combat,  — 
truly  an  epic  figure  in  the  landscape!  He 
stands  out  as  the  embodiment  of  action  and 
virility,  the  grandeur  of  manhood,  mastering 
the  handicap  of  his  birth,  and  leaving  to  man- 
kind the  greatness  of  his  results.  We  may 
well  pause  and  do  homage  to  his  effigy,  in 
this,  the  home  of  his  birth. 

George  and  Gladys  stood  long,  looking 
at  the  martial  figure  of  the  greatest  of  the 
Dukes  of  Normandy,  and  then  turned  into 
a  side  street  and  visited  the  Eglise  de  la 
Trinite.  This  church  has  a  beautiful  Renais- 
sance '*  portair*  and  a  Gothic  nave,  and  is 
extremely  interesting  to  study. 

"  How  strange  it  seems,"  said  Gladys,  "  to 
be  standing  here  where  William  the  Con- 
queror was  actually  born,  after  having  been 
brought  up  on  him  in  our  history  at  school! ' 

318 


STATUE    OF    WILLIAM   THE    CONQUEROR,    FALAISE 


Hotel  de  Guillaume  le  Conquerant 

"  Yes,  love,"  answered  George,  "  and  how 
happy  I  am  to  be  here  with  you!  It  inspires 
me  to  do  things  that  may  be  worthy  of  you, 
in  my  own  life.  I  only  hope  that  I  may  be 
really  worthy  of  your  love,  sweetheart. 
Are  you  sure  that  you  love  me,  Gladys;  are 
you  sure? " 

And  Gladys  told  him  again  that  she  was 
sure,  and  George  believed  it,  in  the  fulness 
of  his  heart's  triumph. 

They  met  Monsieur  de  Brebis  again  at 
Falaise.  He  seemed  anxious  to  make  them 
acquainted  with  anything  that  was  inter- 
esting, and  told  them  of  the  famous  fair 
held  annually  there,  which  is  known  as  "  la 
Foire  de  Gibraye."  It  is  perhaps  one  of  the 
most  historic  and  important  in  this  country 
of  rural  fairs  which  have  been  held  from 
time  irhmemorial. 

If  we  approach  the  town  upon  the  opening 
of  this  fair,  we  are  soon  made  aware  of  its 
existence  by  the  quantity  of  carts  and  wagons 
that  appear  upon  the  road,  filled  with  merry- 
making peasants.  They  join  the  general 
cavalcade  en  route  to  the  "  Foire  de  Gi- 
braye."  In  one  cart  a  whole  family  are 
crowded;  a  mass  of  human  nature,  that  is, 
indeed,  a  curious  study.    Not  only  the  father 

319 


Among  French  Inns 

and  mother,  but  the  children  and  grand- 
children are  frequently  included  in  the  party. 
The  women  wear  the  ''  bonnets  de  coton,** 
always  quaint  in  effect,  while  the  men  disport 
themselves  in  blue  blouses  and  sabots. 

They  are  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long,  and 
intend  to  be  happier  when  they  arrive  at  the 
fair.  The  dust  flies  in  every  direction,  as 
a  cart  full  of  pigs  (as  fat  as  only  the  bucolic 
pig  can  be)  rattles  around  the  corner  of  a 
hedge,  regardless  of  consequences.  An  old 
woman,  not  unlike  a  weasel  in  her  facial 
appearance,  the  head  of  the  establishment, 
is  seated  on  a  board  above  the  fattest  and 
largest  pig,  urging  the  Norman  farm-horse 
forward,  and  kicking  the  other  pigs  with  her 
wooden  sabots. 

At  last  the  sounds  of  music  and  laughter, 
of  chattering  and  bargaining,  of  buying  and 
selling,  announce  that  the  fair  is  at  hand, 
and  we  join  the  crowd  and  prepare  to  see 
the  sights.  Had  we  come  to  Falaise  in  the 
seventeenth  instead  of  the  twentieth  century, 
we  should  probably  have  found  a  different 
state  of  things,  and  one  more  picturesque  to 
the  eye;  but  as  it  is,  "  la  Foire  de  Gibraye  " 
holds  it  own,  and  cannot  but  interest  and 
divert  the  attention  of  the  visitor  to  Falaise. 

320 


Hotel  de  Guillaume  le  Conquerant 

The  street  is  lined  with  booths,  filled  with 
every  fabric  made  in  the  surrounding  coun- 
try. Groups  of  peasants  are  engaged  in 
earnest  conversation  as  to  the  merits  of  the 
various  goods  for  sale.  A  whole  family  is 
thrown  into  a  state  of  excitement,  almost 
bordering  on  frenzy,  over  the  purchase  of 
a  simple  pair  of  stockings.  They  must  be 
from  *'  le  Midi."  Normans  are  more  self- 
contained  in  their  affairs. 

At  the  end  of  the  square  a  man  is  busily 
beating  a  large  drum,  and  announcing  to  an 
admiring  populace  that  he  can  extract  their 
teeth  without  pain.  Judging  by  the  average 
peasant,  his  services  would  seem  to  be  un- 
necessary, for  they  appear,  as  a  class,  to 
have  few  of  these  necessities  to  spare,  and  the 
fame  of  the  American  dentist  has  not  yet 
reached  the  rural  districts  of  France. 

Beyond  the  gentleman  who  extracts  teeth 
is  a  platform,  on  which  acrobats  are  giving 
a  performance  to  a  delighted  crowd.  At  the 
end  of  it  the  hat  is  passed  around,  and  the 
enthusiastic  peasants  drop  in  their  sous  and 
cry  for  more.  A  deafening  noise  is  kept  up 
by  an  immense  travelling  organ,  with  every 
conceivable  attachment  in  the  way  of  drums, 
triangles,    and    cymbals.      It    sends  forth    a 

321 


Among  French  Inns 

volume  of  sound  like  thunder;  but  it  is 
welcomed  by  those  at  the  fair  as  part  of  the 
show. 

Farther  on  a  play  is  being  performed,  and 
a  clown  keeps  up  a  volley  of  wit  before  the 
curtain,  and  draws  forth  laughter  from  the 
audience,  and  finally  the  money  from  their 
pockets,  after  which  the  painted  actors  with- 
draw and  the  lights  are  extinguished.  Such 
plays  are  partly  of  a  comic,  partly  of  a 
tragic  nature,  and  are  never  of  a  high  order; 
but  they  serve  to  interest  the  passer-by,  and 
the  little  troupe  of  actors  manages  to  exist 
from  year  to  year,  and  to  make  its  round  of 
the  country  fairs,  which  occur  at  stated 
intervals. 

The  life  of  these  theatrical  companies  is 
interesting  to  study.  They  have  often  their 
pathetic  side,  and  could  tell  a  tale  of  struggle 
and  disappointment,  of  effort  and  failure, 
which  might  fill  a  page  in  the  history  of 
the  stage.  They  have  produced  genius  from 
the  ranks  of  their  unhonoured  artists.  They 
have  been  the  bitter,  early  schooling  of  many 
an  actor  who  has  arisen  to  prominence.  For 
the  French  are  a  race  of  actors,  and  in 
France,  as  in  no  other  country,  "  all  the 
world's  a  stage." 

322 


Hotel  de  Guillaume  le  Conquerant 

In  the  evening  the  crowds  who  attend  the 
fair  regale  themselves  with  wine  and  cider, 
and  indulge  in  dancing,  song,  and  laughter 
well  into  the  night.  For  many,  it  is  the 
event  of  the  year,  at  which  the  wives  and 
daughters  of  the  peasant  revel  in  their  Sun- 
day best,  and  where  the  daughter  of  a 
family  not  infrequently  meets  her  future 
lord  and  master.  After  all,  it  is,  in  a  sense, 
the  parent  to  the  County  Fair  of  America, 
and  to  this  institution  in  France  we  can  trace 
its  origin.  For  here,  as  with  us,  the  pumpkin, 
the  cabbage,  and  the  apple  reign  in  all  their 
glory. 

Such  is  a  passing  picture  of  Falaise  and  its 
fair.  We  leave  it  with  regret,  and  must 
regard  it  ever  as  one  of  the  most  interesting 
points  of  France,  representing  the  historic 
centre  of  Southern  Calvados. 

We  said  good-bye  here  to  George  and 
Mary  for  a  few  days.  It  was  necessary  for 
George  to  join  his  parents  at  Aix  and  inform 
them  of  his  engagement,  and  do  many  things 
incident  to  so  important  an  announcement 
to  the  world.  Mrs.  Wilton,  it  should  be 
borne  in  mind,  was  as  yet  in  total  ignorance 
of  the  whole  affair,  and  the  only  suggestion 
which  the  outside  world  could  possibly  have 

323 


Among  French  Inns 

had  was  through  the  Vicomte  de  Brebis, 
who,  we  may  venture  to  say,  had  formed  his 
own  opinions  on  the  subject. 

Thus  George  bade  a  fond  farewell  for  a 
few  days  to  his  beloved,  and  repaired  to  Paris 
with  his  sister;  and  Mr.  Wilton  and  Gladys 
and  their  friend  departed  for  the  famous 
Hotel  de  Guillaume  le  Conquerant  at  Dives, 
where,  as  we  have  seen  in  a  previous  chapter, 
their  arrival  caused  such  consternation  and 
concern  to  Trouville. 

The  Hostellerie  de  Guillaume  le  Con- 
querant is  one  of  the  most  ancient  and  cele- 
brated inns  of  France.  Situated  at  the  little 
village  of  Dives,  near  the  seacoast,  in  Cal- 
vados, it  looks  out  over  the  barren  expanse 
of  land  reclaimed  from  the  Channel,  where 
William,  Duke  of  Normandy,  set  forth  for 
the  conquest  of  England. 

The  ancient  harbour  at  the  mouth  of  the 
river  Dives  has  been  filled  up  with  sand,  and 
a  pillar  marks  the  spot  where  the  Conqueror 
is  supposed  to  have  set  sail.  The  village, 
once  an  important  place  on  the  coast,  con- 
tains some  interesting  carved  houses  and  a 
church,  upon  the  walls  of  which  are  in- 
scribed the  names  of  the  knights  who  accom- 
panied William  to  England.    It  is,  therefore, 

324 


Hotel  de  Guillaume  le  Conquerant 

a  historic  and  almost  sacred  spot,  this  little 
Dives,  with  its  famous  inn,  and  one  to  which 
the  pilgrim  may  well  repair  in  the  warm  airs 
of  summer,  with  pleasure  and  advantage. 

The  hotel  itself  is  charmingly  picturesque, 
a  wood  and  plaster  construction  of  the  Nor- 
man type,  built  around  a  court,  with  ram- 
bling rooms  and  exterior  staircases.  The 
beams  are  blackened  with  age  and  carved  in 
designs  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  the  cor- 
ners of  the  court  are  softened  by  climbing 
roses,  wistaria,  and  other  vines.  They  ad- 
vance toward  the  quaint  balconies  running 
around  the  second  story,  and  dress  them  with 
a  floral  decoration  at  once  picturesque  and 
charming  to  behold. 

This  is,  indeed,  the  ideal  of  the  French 
inn,  one  so  well  known  and  appreciated  that 
its  fame  has  gone  over  the  world,  and  pic- 
tures of  it  in  water-colour  may  be  found  in 
England  and  in  far-away  America  to-day, 
adorning  drawing-rooms,  and  reminding  us 
of  days  spent  beneath  its  hospitable  roof.  It 
possesses  an  atmosphere  that  is  all  its  own, 
and  known  to  those  who  have,  at  one  time  or 
another,  tested  its  hospitality  or  its  enter- 
tainment. 

"Well,  I  declare!  What  a  place  this  is!" 
325 


Among  French  Inns 

said  Mr.  Wilton,  on  arriving.  "  I  feel  as  if  I 
were  an  actor  in  some  opera,  instead  of  B. 
Wilton,  travelling  in  France.  Why,  it  isn't 
like  real  life  at  all,  is  it,  Gladys?  How  your 
mother  will  cut  up,  though,  when  she  comes, 
and  we  tell  her  all  about  you  and  George! 
Think  of  the  fun  we  will  have  with  the  count 
and  the  Frenchman!"  But  Gladys  begged 
her  father  not  to  say  anything  to  them  until 
the  formal  announcement;  and  he  was  ob- 
liged to  promise  not  to  do  so  until  George 
returned,  for  Gladys  wished  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  writing  home  to  her  friends  and 
announcing  it  herself. 

So  the  doting  father  was  obliged  to  con- 
tent himself  with  cabling  instructions  to  his 
bankers  in  New  York  to  transfer  two  millions 
of  dollars  in  American  bonds  to  the  name  of 
Gladys  Wilton,  and  another  million,  to  be 
placed  in  trust,  the  income  of  which  should 
be  for  the  use  of  George  Van  Cortland  on  the 
day  that  he  made  her  his  wife. 

He  would  have  a  little  surprise  for  them, 
and  make  an  announcement  all  by  himself, 
if  they  would  not  let  him  announce  their 
engagement.  Why  should  he  not?  He  had 
sixty  or  seventy  millions,  and  only  one  child ; 
and  she,  dear  girl,  was  going  to  marry  the 

326 


Hotel  de  Guillaunie  le  Conquerant 

man  whom  he  would  have  picked  out  for 
her.  Mr.  B.  Wilton  would  show  the  world 
how  he  could  do  things  when  he  wished  to. 
This  would  do  as  a  beginning;  but  he  in- 
tended it  only  as  a  beginning.  He  proposed 
that  the  great  name  of  Van  Cortland  should 
be  surrounded  by  fitting  dignity,  when  his 
daughter  bore  it.  Had  not  he,  B.  Wilton, 
made  all  this  money  himself,  and  did  it  not 
belong  to  him,  to  do  with  it  as  he  wished? 

He  intended  to  build  up  his  family  in- 
fluence at  home.  Some  day  titled  Europe 
would  flock  to  America,  just  as  untitled 
America  now  flocked  to  Europe,  and  then 
they  would  find  out  the  value  of  a  great 
name  in  America  and  the  grandeur  of  Ameri- 
can institutions.  Such  was  the  patriotic  turn 
of  Mr.  Blodget  Wilton's  business  mind,  and 
who  are  we  that  we  should  disagree  with 
him? 

By  and  by  came  Mrs.  Wilton  herself  to 
the  Hotel  of  William  the  Conqueror,  fresh 
from  her  social  triumphs  at  Trouville.  She 
had  telegraphed  her  husband  to  reserve  two 
rooms  and  bath  for  her  accommodation. 

"Two  rooms  and  bath,"  said  Mr.  Wilton, 
reading  the  telegram ;   "  that's  nonsense ;   she 


327 


Among  French  Inns 

can't  have  that  here.  It's  an  inn.  She's  for- 
gotten  that  it's   not  Trouville." 

The  afternoon  of  her  arrival  was  an  event- 
ful one  in  the  annals  of  the  Wilton  family. 
Gladys  went  to  her  mother's  rdom,  and  Mr. 
Wilton  smoked  a  cigar  in  the  courtyard. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Gladys,  "  I  have  some- 
thing very  interesting  to  tell  you." 

"Why,  Gladys,  what  is  it?"  said  her 
mother,  all  interest  and  attention,  for  she 
saw  by  the  expression  of  her  daughter's  face 
that  something  unusual  was  coming. 

"  Mamma,  you  cannot  guess;  I'm  engaged 
to  be  married!  " 

Tableau! 

"Engaged!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wilton,  her 
eyes  sparkling  with  excitement;  "engaged 
to  be  married!  And  to  whom,  pray?  Not 
to  Count  Romeo  di  Pomponi?  Oh,  Gladys, 
I  hope  not." 

"No,  mamma;  give  another  guess,"  said 
Gladys,  delighted  at  the  surprise. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Gladys,  do  tell  your  mother. 
How  do  I  know?  You  have  been  away  with 
your  father  for  weeks.  How  can  I  tell  what 
you  two  have  been  up  to,  off  in  those  out- 
of-the-way  places?     Oh,  Gladys,  is  it  Lord 

F ?     Is  it  Monsieur  de  B ?     Is  it 

328 


Hotel  de  Guillaume  le  Conquerant 

Comte  Raoul  de  Breville?  Why  don't  you 
tell  your  mother?  You  naughty  girl  — 
when  I  ought  to  have  known  all  about  itl 
Think  of  your  playing  me  such  a  trick!" 
And  Mrs.  Wilton  nearly  swooned  then  and 
there. 

"  Mamma,  it's  George  Van  Cortland," 
said  Gladys,  laughing  and  kissing  her 
mother.  "  Mamma,  1  love  him.  Oh,  how 
I  love  him!"  And  Gladys  fell  into  her 
mother's  arms  and  was  clasped  in  her  sym- 
pathetic embrace. 

"George  Van  Cortland,"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
ton, in  bewilderment.  *'  George  Van  Cort- 
land," she  repeated  again,  as  the  full  signifi- 
cance of  the  alliance  dawned  upon  her. 

"  But,  Gladys,  where  under  the  sun  have 
you  seen  him?  Oh,  you  sly  girl,  not  to  tell 
your  mother  anything  about  it!" 

Mrs.  Wilton  thought  it  all  over,  and, 
realizing  the  importance  of  being  associated 
with  Mrs.  Van  Cortland  in  the  role  of 
mother-in-law,  an  importance  which  no  other 
arrangement  short  of  a  family  alliance  could 
possibly  have  given  her,  decided  on  the 
whole  that  the  engagement  was  in  every  way 
a  desirable  one,  and  gave  it  her  unqualified 
endorsement. 

329 


Among  French  Inns 

She  had  no  objection  whatever  to  George 
Van  Cortland  personally.  In  fact,  she  liked 
him  very  much.  The  family  influence  was 
great,  in  every  sense  of  the  word.  So  Mrs. 
Wilton  sat  herself  down  to  write  to  Mrs. 
Van  Cortland,  and  make  arrangements  to 
announce  the  engagement  to  the  world, 
during  the  following  week.  ' 

There  were  things  to  do  on  such  a  momen- 
tous occasion.  Cablegrams  had  to  be  sent, 
letters  written,  people  notified,  Trouville 
informed,  and  the  duchess  seen  and  pacified. 
One  is  not  engaged  nowadays  without  time, 
trouble,  and  expense.  Conventionalities 
must  be  followed,  and  things  take  their 
regular  and  appropriate  course. 

But  we  are  progressing  in  advance  of  our 
story.  Who  should  appear  at  the  Hotel  de 
Guillaume  le  Conquerant,  the  night  of  the 
arrival  of  Mr.  Wilton  and  his  daughter,  but 
the  Frenchman  himself!  He  had  followed 
the  party  from  Falaise,  and  arrived  only  a 
few  hours  behind  them. 

After  dinner  he  asked  Gladys  to  take  a 
walk  to  see  some  points  of  interest;  and  thus 
they  were  left  alone,  in  the  half-light  of  the 
fading  day. 

"  I  have  followed  you,"  said  the  French- 
2  30 


Hotel  de  GMillatime  le  Conquerant 

man,  "  because  I  have  wanted  to  tell  you 
something,  something  that  I  did  not  have  a 
chance  to  say  at  the  duchess's.  You  know 
what  it  is,  mademoiselle?  Oh,  I  love  you! 
Will  you  marry  me?  Will  you  be  my  wife?  " 

The  Frenchman  had  been  so  sudden  in 
his  passionate  appeal  that  Gladys  had  had 
no  time  to  stop  him,  nor  to  ward  off  the 
danger  before  it  was  fairly  upon  her;  for 
there  was  the  Frenchman  on  his  knees  before 
her  in  the  damp  grass. 

"  Why,  Monsieur  de  B ,  what  can  you 

be  thinking  of?  "  she  cried.  "  Pray  get  up. 
You  will  get  wet,  and  your  trousers  will  be 
covered  with  green  stains.  It  is  impossible 
—  impossible.  I  cannot  marry  you.  I  do 
not  love  you.  There  has  been  a  mistake. 
You  must  not  think  of  such  a  thing.  Pray 
get  up,  and  take  me  home,"  she  added  in 
real  alarm,  for  the  Frenchman  was  still  on 
his  knees,  and  was  endeavouring  to  embrace 
the  edge  of  her  skirt. 

"Ah!"  he  cried,  in  despairing  accents, 
still  on  his  knees.  "  Ah,  then  you  do  not  love 
me.  Then  you  love  some  one  else!  Ah,  I 
knew  it.  I  am  too  late."  And  the  French- 
man arose  in  a  paroxysm  of  despair  and 
grief. 

331 


Among  French  Inns 

Gladys's  one  idea  was  to  get  away  and  put 
an  end  to  this  unfortunate  interview,  which 
she  really  had  not  at  all  expected,  and  which 
she  now  deeply  regretted.  Under  other  cir- 
cumstances she  might  have  enjoyed  the  pleas- 
ure of  a  proposal  from  the  Frenchman,  and 
even  have  considered  it  seriously.  But  now 
that  her  heart  was  so  completely  given  to 
another,  she  felt  only  a  sense  of  pain  and 
regret. 

She  liked  the  Frenchman,  and  was  sorry 
to  give  him  any  unhappiness,  for  she  was  not 
heartless  in  regard  to  men  in  general;  but  in 
this  instance  she  had  no  very  strong  belief 
in  the  seriousness  of  his  love,  having  seen 
Frenchmen  profess  the  tender  passion  be- 
fore, and  knowing  their  manner  of  express- 
ing it. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Monsieur  de   B ," 

she  hastened  to  add,  when  he  had  finished  his 
dramatic  scene.  "  I  appreciate  your  feeling 
for  me,  and  hope  that  we  shall  always  be 
friends;  but  it  is  impossible.  You  are  right 
—  I  love  some  one  else.  In  fact,  I  am  al- 
ready engaged  to  marry  him." 

"Oh,  malheur!  Alas!  If  I  had  only 
spoken  at  the  duchess's !  "  sighed  the  French- 
man. 


Hotel  de  Guillaume  le  Conquerant 

"Who  is  my  rival?"  he  continued,  his 
eyes  flashing  with  jealous  sparks.  "  I  know; 
it  is  Lord   F ,  or  Pomponi." 

"  No,  it  is  neither,"  answered  Gladys, 
decidedly.  "  It  is  some  one  you  have  never 
seen.  If  you  will  promise  to  behave  like  a 
man,  instead  of  going  on  like  a  crazy  per- 
son, I  will  tell  you  who  he  is,  before  any 
of  the  others;  and  you  must  be  your  old 
self,  and  come*  to  the  wedding  in  New  York." 

Learning  that  it  was  neither  of  his  old 
rivals,  the  Frenchman  was  somewhat  paci- 
fied, and  felt  that,  after  all,  he  had  better 
not  sacrifice  such  valuable  friends  as  the 
Wiltons,  even  if  he  could  not  make  Miss 
Gladys  Wilton  his  wife  and  keep  her  in 
France.  So  he  escorted  her  home  to  the  inn, 
and  on  the  whole  behaved  pretty  well,  under 
the  rather  trying  circumstances;  and  Gladys 
took  good  care  that  she  should  not  be  left 
alone  with  him  in  the  near  future. 

The  day  following  Mrs.  Wilton^s  arrival, 
the  count  and  the  Englishman  joined  our 
party,  and  the  travelling  group,  once  more 
united,  made  an  excursion  by  automobile  to 
Caen,  which  is  not  far  from  Dives,  and  which 
is  the  capital  of  Calvados.  There  we  all 
visited  the  hotel  where  Beau  Brummel  lived 

333 


Among  French  Inns 

and  died,  after  his  retirement  from  the 
glories  of  the  court  of  George  IV.  The 
rooms  still  remain  where  he  received  imagi- 
nary guests  during  the  period  of  his  insanity. 

Caen  is  a  historic  town,  filled  with 
churches.  It  owes  its  greatness  to  William 
,  the  Conqueror,  who  lies  buried  in  the  Abbaye 
aux  Hommes,  founded  by  him  during  his 
reign.  His  wife,  Queen  Matilda,  is  buried 
in  the  Abbaye  aux  Dames,  which  she  also 
founded  at  the  same  period. 

From  Caen  the  party  went  on  to  Bayeux, 
with  its  Norman  cathedral  containing  the 
famous  tapestries,  in  reality,  embroideries, 
worked  by  Queen  Matilda  to  commemorate 
the  history  of  the  Conquest.  These  tapestries 
are  some  of  the  most  interesting  historical 
examples  of  needlework  in  existence,  and 
have  been  scrupulously  preserved. 

Bayeux  was  the  ancient  capital  of  the 
Vadicassess,  and  was  for  long  a  residence 
of  the  Dukes  of  Normandy.  It  contains 
many  curious  old  timbered  houses  that  are 
extremely  interesting  to  study  and  observe. 
Its  best  hotel  is  the  Hotel  de  Luxembourg, 
and  there  our  party  halted.  Two  chateaux 
in  the  neighbourhood  drew  us  to  their  doors. 
The  first,  the  Chateau  de  Creuilly,  is  a  pic- 

334 


Hotel  de  Guillaume  le  Conquerant 

turesque,  castellated  building  of  white  stone. 
Its  owners  were  noted  in  history  for  their 
inhospitality,  and  legend  has  it  that  they 
would  stand  upon  the  battlements  and  shoot 
the  workmen  whom  they  had  employed  to 
restore  it,  as  they  departed.  Its  present 
owners  have  mercifully  dispensed  with  this 
mediaeval  custom. 

Nearer  the  coast  is  the  more  extensive 
Chateau  of  Fontaine-Henri,  which  has  a 
beautifully  carved  fagade.  It  is  an  excellent 
example  of  the  chateaux  of  Calvados.  Mrs. 
Wilton  liked  it  extremely,  and  wished  she 
could  hire  it  for  a  summer;  but  Mr.  Wilton 
was  disinclined  to  make  any  inquiries  in  this 
direction. 

"Oh,  James,"  said  she,  as  they  were  re- 
turning to  Dives,  "  I  never  will  forgive  you 
for  keeping  me  in  complete  ignorance  of 
George  and  Gladys's  afifair.  But  you  cer- 
tainly were  clever,"  and  Mrs.  Wilton  gave 
her  happy  husband  a  pat  on  the  cheek,  that 
savoured  of  affection,  and  reminded  him  of 
the  days  of  his  own  courtship. 


335 


CHAPTER    XI 

AMONG    THE    INNS    OF    TOURAINE 

Our  original  party  was  once  more  gath- 
ered together  at  Dives,  and  every  one  was  as 
peaceful  and  happy,  to  all  outward  appear- 
ances, as  if  Gladys  Wilton  had  never  met 
George  Van  Cortland,  or  given  him  her  hand 
and  heart.  It  was  decided  that  we  should 
leave  the  Hotel  de  Guillaume  le  Conquerant, 
bid  good-bye  to  Normandy  and  its  pictur- 
esque scenery,  and  pursue  our  way  southward 
into  the  more  imaginative  province  of  Tou- 
raine.  Though  Mrs.  Wilton  had  made  a 
trip  there  before,  she  was  ready  to  return 
with  her  present  congenial  companions,  who 
were  anxious  to  wander  along  the  banks  of 
the  Loire,  and  see  something  of  the  world- 
famous  garden  of  France. 

*'  I  sha'n't  go  to  any  of  the  chateaux  that 
we  visited  before,  Marietta,"  said  Mr.  Wil- 
ton. 

"  Very  well,"  said  his  wife ;  "  we  might  go 
336 


Among  the  Inns  of  Touraine 

to  Loches  and  Langeais,  for  you  know  we 
did  not  have  time  to  see  these  when  we  were 
in  Touraine  last  year." 

The  others  of  the  party  made  no  opposi- 
tion, and  so  we  set  forth  the  following  morn- 
ing, by  way  of  Le  Mans,  where  there  is  an 
interesting  cathedral,  with  flying  buttresses 
and  stained  glass  windows  of  rare  tone  and 
colouring.  It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when 
we  arrived,  and  the  beams  of  the  western 
sunlight,  pouring  through  the  coloured  win- 
dows, gave  to  the  interior  an  effect  which  was 
peculiarly  mellow  and  harmonious.  The 
cathedral  of  Le  Mans  is  an  ancient  structure, 
and  stands  high  above  the  town,  dominating 
it  for  some  distance.  Near  it  is  a  quaint 
old  house,  with  interesting  carved  timbers, 
which  is  worth  visiting. 

Below  the  cathedral,  in  another  part  of  the 
town,  are  some  charming  public  gardens, 
where  the  count  was  glad  to  rest  himself  in 
the  shade  of  trees,  and  breathe  in  the  per- 
fume of  flowers,  which  were  now  in  full 
bloom.  August  is  the  month  of  gardens  in 
France,  as  elsewhere,  and  the  gardens  of  this 
beautiful  country  acknowledge  no  superiors, 
and  bow  to  no  rivals  in  beauty.  In  them 
were  a  number  of  animals,  enclosed  behind 

337 


Among  French  Inns 

wire  netting,  and  the  count  was  aroused  to 
interest  and  enjoyment  at  the  sight  of  a 
family  of  guinea-pigs,  who  were  peacefully 
basking  in  the  sun.  The  happy  nature  of 
the  Italian,  like  that  of  a  child,  was  capable 
of  being  amused  in  the  simplest  manner, 
and  thus  it  was  that  the  gallant  Romeo  found 
himself  suddenly  seated  on  the  grass,  en- 
deavouring to  poke  the  noses  of  the  guinea- 
pigs  with  a  small  stick,  which  he  held  in  his 
hand,  and  to  feed  them  with  some  bits  of 
candy,  which  he  had  concealed  in  the  mys- 
terious depths  of  his  pockets. 

"  I  cannot  see  what  pleasure  you  find  in 
playing  with  those  guinea-pigs,"  said  Mrs. 
Wilton,  poking  the  count  in  turn  with  her 
parasol. 

"Why  is  he  called  a  pig?"  asked  the 
count,  who  was  too  absorbed  in  the  animals 
to  answer  her  remark. 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
ton; "you  must  ask  some  of  the  gentlemen." 
But  as  none  of  the  latter  could  give  the  in- 
quiring count  a  satisfactory  explanation,  he 
was  obliged  to  pursue  his  pastime  unan- 
swered. 

"Come;  we  must  be  going,"  said  Mrs. 
Wilton    to    her    daughter.      "  Monsieur    de 

338 


Among  the  Inns  of  Touraine 

B ,  can  you  not  help  Count  di  Pomponi 

to  get  up?    I  know  he  cannot  do  it  himself." 

After  some  persuasion  Count  Romeo  was 
assisted  to  his  feet,  and  we  proceeded  to  take 
a  drive  through  the  town,  which  has  really 
little  of  artistic  interest  apart  from  the  por- 
tions which  we  had  already  visited.  Le 
Mans  is  the  capital  of  the  Department  of 
La  Sarthe,  and  so  possesses  barracks  filled 
with  soldiers.  These  may  be  seen  walking 
through  the  streets,  and  lending  their  touch 
of  colour,  in  contrast  to  the  white  walls  of 
the  buildings. 

The  country  throughout  La  Sarthe  is 
beautiful,  and  the  roads  as  perfect  as  those 
of  other  parts  of  France.  Our  party  passed 
on  through  the  little  towns  of  Sable  and  La 
Fleche.  There  is  a  race-course  at  the  latter 
place,  where  meetings  are  held  in  summer; 
and  not  far  from  it  are  the  beautiful  gar- 
dens and  chateau  of  Le  Lude,  belonging  to 
the  Marquis  de  Talhoiiet.  The  road  beyond 
La  Fleche  crosses  the  river  Loir,  and  runs 
directly  south  for  a  long  distance,  toward 
the  larger  and  more  famous  Loire.  These 
two  rivers,  on  account  of  their  similar  names, 
are  frequently  confused  by  travellers,  and 
not  unnaturally,   for  they  are  close  to  each 

339 


Among  French  Inns 

other,  and  their  waters  are  mingled  beyond 
Angers. 

On  the  south  bank  of  La  Loire,  which 
widens  here,  as  it  runs  northwest  toward  La 
Poissoniere,  is  situated  the  charming  town  of 
Saumur.  Smiling  in  the  sunshine,  it  is  re- 
flected in  the  blue  waters  of  the  river,  and 
clusters  at  the  foot  of  the  ancient  fortress, 
which  looms  high  against  the  sky-line  behind 
it.  Saumur,  like  Le  Mans,  is  a  garrison 
town,  and  filled  with  officers  and  soldiers, 
which  give  gaiety  and  life  to  its  streets. 

How  different  is  this  scene  from  Nor- 
mandy, with  its  rolling  hills  and  domestic 
scenery!  And  how  interesting  a  contrast  is 
this  beautiful  view  of  La  Loire,  to  that  of 
the  Seine  at  Rouen  or  elsewhere!  The  at- 
mosphere of  the  south  has  begun  to  make 
itself  felt,  and  Touraine  is  at  hand,  with  all 
its  suggestions  of  the  Renaissance,  and  its 
luxurious  splendour,  following  the  rude  cus- 
toms of  earlier  mediaeval  days. 

Saumur  is  a  favourite  haunt  of  visitors, 
who  delight  to  linger  upon  the  bridge  over 
the  river,  and  gaze  at  the  extended  view 
marked  by  the  strong  lines  of  the  chateau 
and  the  slender  church  tower,  rising  like  a 
needle-point  to  the  sky.     It  bears  aloft  the 

340 


>      > 


GENERAL  VIEW  OF  SAUMUR 


HOTEL  BUDAN,  SAUMUR 


••   1     *■  •-*'     ^  let  "      * 


Among  the  Inns  of  Touraine 

cross,  as  if  to  remind  its  inhabitants  of  the 
origin  of  their  town,  and  fill  them  with  re- 
ligious inspiration.  For  Saumur  owes  its 
birth  to  the  monastery  and  fortress,  which 
was  begun  as  early  as  the  tenth  century,  for 
the  purpose  of  enclosing  the  relics  of  St. 
Florent. 

At  a  later  period  the  inhabitants  revolted 
from  the  monasteries  of  St.  Florent  and 
Fontevrault,  situated  in  the  same  country, 
and  became  Calvinists.  From  that  time, 
Saumur,  which  was  then  a  considerable 
town,  continued  to  be  the  centre  of  Calvinism 
until  the  Edict  of  Nantes.  By  this  decree 
Louis  XIV.  gave  its  growth  and  importance 
a  check  from  which  it  has  never  recovered. 
Still,  the  well-known  Ecole  de  Cavalerie, 
which  is  situated  there,  has  done  much  to 
make  it  a  centre  of  activity. 

Our  party,  who  were  delighted  with  the 
view  which  they  had  obtained  during  their 
arrival  at  Saumur,  entered  the  town  in  the 
happiest  mood,  and  drew  up  at  the  Hotel 
Budan,  which  is  an  excellent  hostelry,  whose 
hosts  are  devoted  to  the  interest  and  comfort 
of  their  guests.  We  remained,  however,  only 
a  night,  and  made  an  excursion  the  following 
morning  to  the  Chateau  de  Morains,  situated 

341 


Among  French  Inns 

at  Dampierre,  a  few  kilometres  distant.  This 
little  chateau,  which  is  of  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury, is  famous  as  having  been  the  abode  of 
Marguerite  d'Anjou,  widow  of  Henry  VI. 
of  England,  during  her  exile.  Here  she 
died,  in  1480,  bowed  down  with  grief  at  the 
misfortunes  of  her  life.  She  lies  buried  in 
the  cathedral  of  Angers,  by  the  side  of  her 
father,  King  Rene.  Morains  is  a  charming 
chateau,  with  a  castellated  tower  and  wall, 
its  pointed  roofs  surmounted  by  ornaments  of 
iron. 

Gladys,  who  had  avoided  the  Frenchman 
as  much  as  possible  during  their  journey 
southward,  now  found  herself  with  him  in 
front  of  the  chateau.  No  reference  had  ever 
been  made  to  the  scene  which  had  taken  place 
on  the  night  of  his  arrival  at  Dives,  and 
Gladys,  now  that  it  had  passed,  was  inclined 
to  look  upon  it  more  in  the  light  of  a  joke 
than  as  a  serious  proposal.  She  was,  there- 
fore, a  little  surprised  when  the  Frenchman 
suddenly  turned  the  conversation  to  that 
memorable  evening. 

"  Ah,  mademoiselle,"  said  he,  "  Monsieur 
Van  Cortland  is  indeed  lucky  to  have  you 
as  a  fiancee.  But  still,  deeply  as  I  am 
wounded    by    your    refusal,    I    can    forgive 

342 


Among  the  Inns  of  Touraine 

everything,  since  it  was  neither  the  English- 
man nor  Count  Romeo  that  you  chose  as  a 
husband." 

Gladys  was  on  the  point  of  remarking 
that  she  could  see  no  cause  why  the  French- 
man should  have  anything  to  forgive  what- 
ever, but  she  checked  herself,  knowing  that 
he  had  made  a  great  effort  to  control  his 
emotions  and  his  disappointment,  and  feel- 
ing that  in  her  happiness  at  possessing  the 
love  of  George  Van  Cortland  she  could 
afford  to  be  generous  to  his  rival. 

Beyond  Dampierre,  about  twelve  kilo- 
metres distant,  is  Montsoreau,  a  chateau  of 
the  Renaissance,  upon  the  banks  of  the  Loire. 
Its  high,  rather  bleak  walls,  rise  above  the 
river,  and  its  outline  is  reflected  in  the  waters 
at  its  feet.  It  is  almost  devoid  of  ornament, 
and  is  in  a  partially  decayed  condition.  The 
little  village  beyond  it  has  two  ruined 
churches  of  an  early  century.  There  is 
little  that  is  either  ornamental  or  beautiful, 
architecturally,  at  Montsoreau,  and  we  fol- 
lowed the  banks  of  the  river  with  a  feeling 
of  sadness,  almost,  as  we  pursued  our  way 
toward  Fontevrault.  The  few  kilometres 
of  road  leading  from  the-  river  pass  through 
a  beautiful  valley  filled  with  vineyards  and 

343 


Among  French  Inns 

lovely  views  of  the  country.  The  valley  runs 
southward,  and  farther  on  it  is  shaded  by 
forest  tangles  and  rich  growths  of  trees, 
over  which  hang  the  mists  of  Touraine,  the 
familiar  "  hrouillard  de  la  Loire,''  which 
lends  to  everything  its  soft  and  mysterious 
atmosphere.  Here  we  may  well  agree  with 
the  poets  who  sing  of  the  idealism  of  the 
French  country  and  extol  its  beauty.  Is  it  to 
be  wondered  that  they  have  been  inspired  to 
graceful  verses  in  these  surroundings,  so 
blessed  by  nature  and  so  cultivated  by  man? 

Our  party  alighted  at  the  Hotel  de  France, 
a  nice  little  hotel  with  an  attractive  garden, 
and  paused  for  dejeuner.  It  was  warm,  and 
the  count  was  glad  to  cool  himself  in  the 
shade  of  an  arbour,  and  to  sip  a  light  draught 
of  the  wine  of  Touraine  —  a  delicious  white, 
sparkling  wine  from  the  coteaux  de  Saumur. 

"  No  more  cider,  count,"  said  Mr.  Wilton, 
jocosely,  giving  his  Excellency  one  of  those 
facetious  digs  in  his  side,  which  that  person- 
age disliked  so  extremely,  and  which  tickled 
and  startled  him  on  occasions  when  he  least 
expected  them.  However,  the  fact  that  Mr. 
Wilton  had  made  him  that  promised  propo- 
sition after  the  spaghetti  party,  and  had 
agreed  to  pay  him  liberally  for  his  receipt 

344 


Among  the  Inns  of  Touraine 

of  this  interesting  foodstuff,  when  properly 
canned  and  placed  on  the  market,  made 
Count  Romeo  di  Pomponi's  heart  warm 
toward  the  American  financier,  and  inclined 
him  to  accept  his  jokes  (and  his  physical 
violence)    with  philosophical  composure. 

"  I  am  glad  the  cider  is  no  more,"  said  his 
Excellency.  "  He  is  too  hard  for  the  head. 
The  wine  here  is  like  the  Italy,  and  reminds 
me  of  my  own  vineyard.  Ah,  Monsieur 
Wilton,  you  should  see  my  garden  on  the 
Lago  di  Como.  When  you  coame  there,  you 
shall  eat  the  fresh  figs  from  the  trees,  and  see 
the  torrents  rushing  down  from  the  mountain. 
Ah,  la  belle  Italie! '*  And  the  count  raised 
his  glass  to  his  lips  in  a  long  health  to  his 
native  land. 

''Italia  multa  bella''  said  the  Englishman, 
sedately,  with  a  strong  Anglo-Saxon  accent. 

The  count  was  pleased,  and  the  party  sat 
down  to  dejeuner.  The  abbey  church  of 
Fontevrault  is  a  most  interesting  historical 
monument.  It  dates  back  as  far  as  the 
eleventh  century,  when  it  was  founded  by 
Robert  d'Arbrissol.  The  present  church 
was  consecrated  by  one  of  the  popes,  and 
was  a  very  important  abbey  of  this  region 
for  many  centuries.     Much  history  has  clus- 

345 


Among  French  Inns 

tered  about  it,  and  it  possesses  many  royal  as- 
sociations and  tombs.  The  abbesses  of  Font- 
evrault  have  all  played  their  part  in  history. 
One  of  them  was  the  sister  of  Madame  de 
Montespan.  The  daughters  of  Louis  XV. 
were  taught  here  as  children.  Its  superb 
cloister  bears  traces  of  dating  from  the 
twelfth  to  the  seventeenth  century,  while  the 
chapter-house  has  a  magnificent  portal  of 
the  latter  period.  The  choir  and  transepts, 
which  have  been  restored,  are  now  used  for 
mass,  and  the  atmosphere  has  a  sanctified  and 
glorious  character  which  nothing  can  take 
from  it. 

If  we  allow  our  steps  to  lead  us  to  the  semi- 
circular chapel  in  one  of  the  transepts,  we 
shall  stand  before  the  monuments  of  the 
Plantagenets.  The  tombs  beneath  them  bear 
the  remains  of  these  historic  personages, 
fileanore  de  Guyenne  sleeps  before  us,  with 
her  hands  crossed  and  an  expression  of  beati^ 
tude  upon  her  countenance.  Her  son,  Rich- 
ard Coeur  de  Lion,  holding  his  sceptre  in  his 
hand,  reposes  upon  a  couch  of  stone  drapery 
beside  her.  There  is  something  almost 
sublime  in  the  appearance  of  these  graven 
effigies,  the  repose  and  calm  upon  their  fea- 
tures conveying  to  us  an  idea  of  peace  after 

346 


Among  the  Inns  of  Touraine 

the  turmoils  of  this  life.  Here  also  lies 
Henry  II.,  holding  likewise,  in  his  hands, 
the  symbol  of  his  majesty.  Beyond  him  is 
the  wooden  effigy  of  Isabelle  d'Angouleme, 
who  was  the  wife  of  King  John. 

At  the  end  of  the  refectory  of  the  abbey 
is  the  Tour  d'Evrault,  built  in  the  twelfth 
century.  It  served  as  the  kitchen  for  the 
abbey  itself,  and  is  a  most  peculiar  and 
interesting  building  —  in  fact,  one  of  the 
most  individual  in  existence.  It  is  octagonal 
in  form,  with  a  high,  angular  roof,  tapering 
to  a  cupola  at  its  apex.  Curious  round 
bulges  extend  between  the  buttresses,  more 
for  use  than  for  ornament. 

Our  party  wandered  about  Fontevrault 
during  the  afternoon,  and  returned  to  Sau- 
mur  in  the  soft  light  of  the  fading  day,  well 
pleased  with  their  excursion.  The  following 
day  we  proceeded  along  the  southern  bank 
of  the  Loire  to  Chinon.  How  shall  we 
describe  adequately  the  charm  of  these  jour- 
neys through  Touraine,  in  the  warm  sun  of 
summer?  The  sky  was  laden  with  fleecy 
clouds,  shaded  from  white  to  gray,  that  sailed 
over  the  clear,  blue  surface  of  the  heavens 
and  formed  a  background  to  the  pictures 
which  we  passed  continually.     The  graceful 

347 


Amo7ig  French  Imts 

points  of  towers,  the  high  slate  roofs  of  cha- 
teaux rose  above  the  verdant  foliage  of  the 
landscape.  Their  white  walls,  seeming  like 
marble  in  the  distance,  appeared  in  the  open- 
ing of  trees  or  upon  the  summit  of  some 
hill.  Everything  here  was  lofty,  graceful, 
and  decorated  with  a  touch  of  fancy  that 
inspired  us  with  a  classic  note,  and  forced 
upon  us  at  every  turn  the  glory  of  the  Renais- 
sance, brought  first  from  Italy  and  deposited 
here  in  France. 

Our  party  had  gained  at  Saumur  two 
interesting  additions  in  the  form  of  George 
Van  Cortland  and  his  sister.  They  had 
come  from  Aix,  where  they  had  left  their 
parents,  to  join  us  when  we  should  arrive  at 
Versailles.  That  the  arrival  of  George  Van 
Cortland  was  attended  by  interest  and  con- 
gratulations on  the  part  of  our  travelling 
companions  need  hardly  be  mentioned.  Mrs. 
Wilton's  meeting  with  him  was  effusive. 
She  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks,  and  told  him 
that  he  was  the  handsomest  and  the  nicest 
man  she  had  ever  known,  and  that  she  was 
proud  to  have  him  as  a  son-in-law,  which 
was  perfectly  true.  If  Mrs.  Wilton  was 
pleased,  her  husband  was,  to  say  the  least, 
puffed  up  with  pride  and  satisfaction.     The 

348 


Among  the  Inns  of  Touraine 

Englishman,  the  Frenchman,  the  count,  and 
the  American,  who  was  an  old  friend,  gath- 
ered about  George,  showered  him  with  con- 
gratulations, and  drank  his  health,  in  what 
is  known  in  France  as  ''  un  bouteille  de 
quatrevingt'treize.'* 

Gladys  was  looking  radiantly  happy,  and 
was  rivalled  in  appearance  by  Mary  Van 
Cortland.  The  latter  was  tall  and  graceful, 
her  willowy  figure  having  an  air  of  great 
distinction.  She  had  dark  eyes  and  hair,  and 
when  the  colour  came  to  her  face  and  her 
expression  became  animated,  she  was,  if  not 
beautiful,  certainly  a  very  attractive  girl. 
The  count  and  the  Frenchman  were  over- 
heard discussing  her,  as  Latins  do  whenever 
they  see  a  pretty  woman. 

"  Mademoiselle  Van  Cortland  est  jolief 
said  the  Frenchman. 

"  She  is  the  Italian  type,"  said  the  count. 
"  That  is  what  we  have  in  the  Italy  more 
than  in  the  America." 

"  She  puts  herself  like  the  French,  how- 
ever," said  the  Frenchman.  "  She  is  like 
a  Parisian  —  very  well  put,  et  bien  coiffee," 
he  added,  in  a  tremendous  whisper. 

"  True,"    said     the     count.       "  Charming 


349 


Among  French  Inns 

miss.  I  like  Miss  Van  Cortland;  but  she 
does  not  inspire  the  loave  in  the  boosom." 

There  was  one  member  of  the  party,  how- 
ever, who  was  perfectly  contented  with  this 
state  of  affairs,  though  there  was  little  danger 
of  the  count's  being  a  serious  rival. 

Thus  we  proceeded  on  our  way  toward 
Chinon,  and  on  arriving  there,  alighted  at 
the  Hotel  de  la  Boule  d'Or.  A  beautiful 
bridge  crosses  the  river,  behind  which 
stretch  lines  of  poplar-trees,  rearing  their 
slender  heads  like  sentinels  in  the  landscape, 
a  feature  of  the  scenery  of  Touraine.  The 
road  upon  the  opposite  bank  is  also  lined 
with  trees,  and  on  the  height  above  them 
rise  the  uneven  lines  of  the  mediaeval  for- 
tress of  Chinon.  It  is  one  of  great  age. 
Caino,  the  predecessor  of  Chinon,  was  known 
as  far  back  as  the  Roman  period,  and  in  the 
time  of  King  Clovis,  was  one  of  the  chief 
strongholds  of  the  kingdom. 

During  the  eleventh  century,  Thibault  III., 
who  was  one  of  the  ancient  Counts  of  Tou- 
raine, gave  Chinon  to  Geoffroy  Martel.  The 
fortress  has  a  long  and  noble  history.  It  has 
been  the  abode  of  Henry  II.  of  England,  who 
died  there  in  1189.  It  has  been  the  property 
of  Philip  Augustus  and  Charles  II.,  and  it 

350 


Among  the  Inns  of  Touraine 

was  here  that  the  latter  monarch  assembled 
the  States  General  of  France.  A  short  road 
leads  from  the  town  to  the  Pavilion  de 
THorloge,  which  is  the  entrance  to  the  cha- 
teau. 

The  fortress  itself  comprises  a  labyrinth 
of  walls  and  ruined  fortifications.  It  has,  in 
fact,  three  distinct  castles.  The  Chateau  de 
St.  Georges,  the  Chateau  de  Milieu,  and  the 
Chateau  de  Coudray,  which  is  in  the  centre. 
The  former  was  built  by  the  Plantagenet 
king,  and  little  but  its  walls  remain  to-day 
to  tell  of  its  former  importance,  or  of  the 
sieges  which  it  sustained.  The  second,  whose 
foundations  arose  upon  the  ruins  of  a  Roman 
camp,  contains  the  Grand-Logis,  which  was 
used  by  Henry  II.,  Charles  VII.,  and  Louis 
XV.  The  third  and  central  chateau  contains 
the  Tour  de  St.  Martin  and  the  chapel. 

Visions  of  Jeanne  d^Arc  rise  to  the  mind, 
as  we  stand  at  Chinon,  for  it  was  here  that 
her  meeting  took  place  with  Charles  VII., 
and  it  was  in  the  Chateau  de  Coudray  that 
she  remained.  Here  we  are  in  the  earlier 
mediaeval  history  of  France,  that  bloody 
period  which  preceded  the  Renaissance. 
Chinon  is  in  contrast  to  such  chateaux  as 
Azay-le-Rideau     and     Chenonceaux,    which 

351 


Among  French  Inns 

breathe  the  luxury  of  later  days.  The  stern 
ruggedness  of  life  characterized  its  existence. 
Battlements  and  machicolations  crowned  its 
walls,  and  served  to  protect  its  defenders 
against  the  encroachments  of  enemies  and  the 
missiles  of  their  armies. 

Such  was  the  life  of  this  ancient  fortress, 
whose  stones  surmount  the  height  above  the 
peaceful  river.  The  arches  of  the  bridge  are 
reflected  upon  its  surface.  The  whole  pic- 
ture is  one  of  beauty  and  significance,  while 
from  the  advantageous  positions  of  the  tow- 
ers an  extended  view  may  be  obtained  over 
the  luxuriant  country  which  stretches  be- 
neath them. 

The  little  town  clustering  at  the  foot  of 
the  hill,  and  shielded  from  the  river  by  its 
lines  of  trees,  has  many  a  quaint  corner  and 
picturesque  street.  Here  we  find  a  timbered 
house,  with  a  carving  depicting  the  stoning 
of  St.  Stephen.  The  Church  of  St.  Etienne 
has  a  beautiful  portal,  which  is  attributed 
to  Philippe  de  Comines.  There  are  other 
churches  at  Chinon,  but  we  will  leave  them 
for  others  to  describe. 

The  statue  of  Rabelais  (who  is  reported 
to  have  been  born  here),  though  modern, 
is  interesting  to  look  upon,  and  brings  back 

352 


Among  the  Inns  of  Touraine 

to  us  the  writings  of  this  commanding  genius 
of  French  literature.  Indeed,  Touraine 
possesses  a  literature  of  its  own.  Balzac  has 
written  of  the  province  at  length,  and  in  it 
are  laid  the  scenes  of  many  of  his  stories. 
Voltaire,  Rousseau,  and  others  who  preceded 
the  Revolution,  and  whose  writings  influ- 
enced the  upheaval  of  France,  were  often,  at 
Chenonceaux;  and  other  writers  have  im- 
mortalized this  country,  made  dear  to  the 
hearts  of  those  who  have  dwelt  upon  its 
hills  or  within  the  mysterious  shadows  of 
its  valleys. 

There  is  another  hotel  at  Chinon  besides 
the  Boule  d'Or.  It  is  the  Hotel  de  France. 
Some  of  our  party  decided  to  try  its  hospi- 
tality, and  found  it  a  quaint  little  hotel, 
as  all  such  places  are,  in  the  small  villages 
which  grow  up  about  the  larger  chateaux  of 
Touraine. 

In  the  afternoon  we  said  good-bye  to 
Chinon,  with  its  ancient  fortress  and  its 
view  above  the  river  Vienne,  upon  which 
it  is  situated.  Our  way  led  through  a  lovely 
country,  for  about  twenty-five  kilometres,  to 
the  town  of  Azay-le-Rideau,  where  we  spent 
the  night  at  the  Hotel  du  Grand  Monarque. 
As  Mrs.  Wilton  had  been  there  before,  we 

353 


Among  French  Inns 

were  hurried  on  the  next  morning  to  see 
the  Chateau  de  Rochecotte,  belonging  to  the 
Marquis  de  Castellane,  which  is  in  this 
neighbourhood,  and  where  the  great  Tally- 
rand  is  reported  to  have  died.  Rochecotte 
is  close  to  Langeais,  and  it  was  not  long 
before  our  party  had  drawn  up  before  the 
door  of  the  Lion  d'Or,  at  the  latter  place. 
Langeais  is  one  of  that  wonderful  group 
of  chateaux  which  make  Touraine  a  prov- 
ince at  once  rich  in  architecture,  and  sought 
by  lovers  of  beauty.  Unlike  Chinon,  it  is 
now  used  as  a  private  residence.  The  mod- 
ern accompaniments  of  luxury,  the  parterres 
and  flowers,  the  plants  upon  the  terraces,  and 
various  other  evidences  of  life,  give  to  it 
a  touch  of  beauty  and  a  finish  which  the 
ruined  chateaux  lack.  Langeais  is  a  noble 
piece  of  architecture,  dating  from  a  more 
remote  period  than  Chenonceaux  or  Azay-le- 
Rideau.  It  shows  the  evidences  of  the  feudal 
period  in  the  sternness  of  its  walls,  the 
rugged  simplicity  of  its  architecture,  and  the 
height  of  its  fortifications.  It  was  built  by 
the  famous  Foulques  Nerra,  Comte  d'Anjou, 
whose  name  is  associated  with  both  Loches 
and  Langeais.  The  castle  dates  from  the 
tenth   century.      Upon    the    remains   of   this 

354 


Among  the  Inns  of  Touraine 

fortress  arise  the  present  fifteenth-century 
chateau,  which  still  bears  signs  of  having 
been  built  to  withstand  the  attacks  of  ene- 
mies. It  rises  to  a  great  height,  and  is 
mediaeval  in  appearance.  The  court  is 
reached  by  a  gateway  beneath  two  great 
towers,  and  is  supplied  with  the  ancient 
portcullis. 

The  present  chateau  was  begun  by  the 
celebrated  barber  of  Louis  XL,  Oliver  le 
Dain,  according  to  the  historians  of  Lan- 
geais,  but  was  only  completed  by  Jean 
Bourre,  his  minister,  who  was  the  subsequent 
owner  of  this  property.  As  to  what  hap- 
pened to  the  barber,  or  why  Langeais  passed 
out  of  his  hands,  we  must  confess  ourselves 
to  be  in  ignorance.  It  matters  little.  The 
work  of  completing  this  fine  domain  was 
carried  on  by  his  successor,  and  is  to-day 
one  of  the  historical  monuments  of  Tou- 
raine. 

By  the  courtesy  of  the  present  owners, 
visitors  are  admitted  to  the  court  and  the 
interior  of  the  chateau.  The  rooms  are 
furnished  with  ancient  furniture,  pictures, 
tapestries,  and  all  the  accompaniments  of  the 
luxurious  beauty  which  was  so  prevalent  in 
the   Renaissance.     The   decorations   are   less 

355 


Among  French  Inns 

fantastic  than  those  of  Chenonceaux,  and  for 
that  very  reason  perhaps  more  in  keeping 
with  the  character  of  the  architecture. 

The  terraces  of  Langeais  are  one  of  its 
most  beautiful  features.  We  have  spoken  of 
the  parterres;  now  we  observe  the  orange- 
trees,  which  bloom  in  France  in  summer- 
time and  lend  their  formal  dignity  to  such 
places  as  Langeais.  They  are  here  in  all 
their  beauty,  stationed  like  sentinels  of  fra- 
grant beauty,  and  replacing  the  warlike 
guards  which  defended  Langeais  through 
the  earlier  centuries.  The  bloody  days 
which  characterized  the  sixteenth  and  seven- 
teenth centuries  in  France  have  left  little 
trace  of  their  existence  here.  As  we  bathe 
ourselves  in  the  sunshine  that  warms  the 
terraces  of  Langeais,  and  gaze  over  the  fair 
view  of  the  surrounding  country,  we  find 
only  such  peaceful  warriors  as  the  lines  of 
poplar-trees,  which  seem  to  be  marching  in 
martial  array  by  the  borders  of  streams  or 
through  the  verdant  tranquillity  of  valleys. 
They  have  replaced  the  soldiers  of  Louis  XT. 
and  other  monarchs,  who  for  a  thousand 
years  invaded  and  devastated  this  beautiful 
country.  There  were  periods  of  peace,  as 
there  were   those  of  war,   and  we   must  not 

356 


Among  the  Inns  of  Touraine 

believe  that  Touraine  was  not  allowed  time 
to  beautify  her  royal  residences,  or  embellish 
them  with  the  accompaniments  of  luxury  and 
ease.  They  are,  at  many  places,  noticeable, 
and  at  Langeais  we  find  them  in  all  their 
charm  and  beauty. 

Mrs.  Wilton  was  more  pleased  with  Lan- 
geais than  Chinon.  It  conveyed  to  her  some- 
thing more  in  keeping  with  her  own  ambi- 
tions and  tastes  than  the  ruined  walls  of 
that  earlier  mediaeval  fortress. 

"  I  sometimes  feel  that  I  should  like  to 
own  one  of  these  chateaux,"  said  she.  "  The 
life  here  seems  to  be  ideal,  and  then  I 
could  have  such  agreeable  house-parties  all 
summer  long,  and  take  people  off  for  auto- 
mobile trips,"  she  added,  carried  away  by  the 
charm  of  her  surroundings. 

"Why  do  you  not  buy  Azay-le-Rideau?  " 
said  the  Frenchman.  "  It  is  the  gem  of 
the  Renaissance,  and  I  believe  could  be 
bought  now,  since  they  have  sold  the  pic- 
tures and  other  works  of  art." 

"  We  might  go  back  to-morrow,  and  look 
it  over  more  carefully  than  we  did  yester- 
day," said  Mrs.  Wilton,  who  seemed  really 
enthusiastic  over  the  idea. 

"  I  think  you  will  find  it  too  far  from 
357 


Among  French  Inns 

Paris,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  throwing  cold 
water  on  the  plan. 

But  Mrs.  Wilton  was  not  to  be  turned 
aside  from  her  intention,  and  in  spite  of 
Mr.  Wilton's  objection  she  returned  the  fol- 
lowing day  and  went  over  the  chateau  from 
attic  to  cellar  in  the  most  practical  and  care- 
ful manner.  During  her  inspection  she 
pictured  herself  giving  the  most  remarkable 
fetes  and  entertainments  since  the  days  of 
Catherine  de  Medicis  at  Chenonceaux.  She 
beheld  the    Due    de    St.    Galmier    and    the 

Duchesse    de    V ,    with  all    the    brilliant 

company  which  she  would  assemble  about 
them,  possibly  headed  by  royalty  itself, 
seated  at  her  dinner-table,  and  viewing  an 
evening  fete  from  the  terrace  of  the  chateau. 

"  You  know  that  it  would  be  a  very  nice 
place  for  George  and  Gladys  to  come  to  for 
the  summer,  in  case  we  did  not  come  abroad 
ourselves,"  said  she  to  Mr.  Wilton.  But 
the  latter  did  not  see  the  force  of  the  argu- 
ment, possibly  because  he  feared  that  he 
would  be  forced  to  play  host  at  too  many 
house-parties,  and  that  his  wife  might  even 
cause  him  to  take  lessons  in  the  French  lan- 
guage, a  thing  which  he  had  always  posi- 
tively    refused     to     do.       The     possibility, 

358 


Among  the  Inns  of  Tottraine 

however,  had  always  been  held  over  him 
by  his  wife,  like  the  ''  Sword  of  Damocles," 
and  he  feared  this  punishment  more  than 
anything  that  might  happen  to  him  during 
their  yearly  trips  to  Europe. 

From  Azay-le-Rideau  our  party  went 
directly  to  Tours,  where  they  stayed  at  the 
Hotel  de  TUnivers,  which,  if  not  an  inn,  is 
a  very  comfortable  hotel  to  stop  at.  For  the 
convenience  of  other  travellers,  we  may 
mention  also  the  Hotel  de  la  Boule  d'Or, 
which  is  more  of  a  typically  French  hotel 
than  the  De  TUnivers.  It  was  pleasant  to 
have  the  comforts  of  a  city  once  more,  after 
the  primitive  conveniences  of  the  country 
inns  and  other  places  in  which  we  had  re- 
mained for  so  long.  The  host  and  hostess 
of  the  Hotel  de  TUnivers  made  us  feel  that 
we  were  really  welcome,  and  gave  us  every 
information  in  regard  to  the  places  to  visit 
in  the  neighbourhood,  as  well  as  in  Tours 
itself. 

The  city  is  the  old  capital  of  Touraine. 
and  is  now  the  capital  of  the  Department 
of  Indre-et-Loire,  named  from  its  two  rivers. 
Tours  is  a  very  ancient  city,  dating  from 
the  Roman  period,  and  has  a  long  and  inter- 
esting history. 

359 


Among  French  Inns 

The  Counts  of  Touraine  were  the  gover- 
nors of  Tours  at  an  early  period.  Later  it 
was  owned  by  Henry  II.  of  England.  In 
the  thirteenth  century,  after  a  series  of  strug- 
gles, it  was  incorporated  as  part  of  France. 
The  town  was  fortified  by  Francois  I.  It 
has  been  the  scene  of  many  sieges  during 
the  religious  wars  which  rent  France  through 
the  middle'  ages,  as  well  as  the  Renaissance. 
To-day  it  is  a  centre,  in  more  respects  than 
one,  not  only  of  Touraine,  but  of  France. 
It  is  here  that  we  find  the  purest  language 
and  accent  of  the  French  in  all  its  beauty 
and  richness,  a  language  recognized  by  all 
the  world  as  the  most  facile,  the  most  musi- 
cal, and  the  most  potent  for  international 
uses.  Its  literature  is  unmatched.  Its  devel- 
opment and  growth  have  advanced  with  that 
of  its  people.  It  is  the  synonym  of  perfec- 
tion, and  the  medium  of  the  world's  thought. 
Though  English  may  supplant  it  in  the 
future,  it  must  always  remain  unequalled  in 
certain  respects. 

Tours  is  an  excellent  centre  for  excursions, 
marked  in  the  landscape  by  the  towers  of  its 
beautiful  cathedral,  \^^ich  we  will  not  at- 
tempt to  describe  here,  but  which  we  would 
counsel  those  who  visit  the  city  to  investigate. 

360 


1-1 

Q 
u 


t  )     C       ,T    .C, 


Among  the  Inns  of  Touraine 

A  kilometre  from  the  town  is  Plessis  les 
Tours,  where  Louis  XI.  died,  and  where  the 
world  was  rid  of  one  of  its  most  perfidious 
rulers.  In  the  chateau,  which  was  largely 
destroyed  during  the  Revolution,  was  one 
of  the  prisons  of  the  famous  Cardinal  de 
Balue. 

Marmoutier,  Rochecourbon,  and  Luynes 
are  all  close  to  Tours,  while  Loches  is  not 
far  distant.  We  visited  the  Chateau  de 
Luynes  the  day  after  our  arrival.  It  is  a 
pleasant  ride  in  an  automobile  from  Tours, 
and  is  a  picturesque  and  interesting  place 
to  see.  The  castle,  though  rather  stern  and 
bleak  in  appearance,  is  approached  by  a 
long  flight  of  steps  leading  to  a  Romanesque 
doorway,  with  high  walls,  partly  covered 
with  vines  and  overhanging  creepers.  The 
castle  is  flanked  by  a  number  of  bare,  cir- 
cular towers,  with  plain,  pointed  roofs, 
telling  us  at  a  glance  that  it  was  built  origi- 
nally for  use  more  than  for  beauty. 

In  early  times,  Luynes  was  the  domain 
of  the  Comte  de  Maille,  which  was  created 
a  duchy  by  Louis  XIII. ,  for  his  favourite 
minister,  Charles  Albert  de  Luynes.  The 
present  Due  de  Luynes  still  owns  the  cha- 
teau.   There  is  nothing  here  to  tell  us  of  the 

361 


Among  French  Inns 

effete  and  luxurious  days  of  the  Renaissance; 
nothing  of  the  delicacy  of  beauty,  the  rich- 
ness of  carving,  or  the  graceful  outlines 
which  characterize  other  chateaux  of  Tou- 
raine.  Here  we  find  a  monument  which 
represents  the  stern  significance  of  life.  The 
virile  qualities  which  made  the  French  so 
great  a  nation  were  uppermost  when  the 
Chateau  de  Luynes  was  built  to  defend 
those  who  upheld  the  sovereignty  of  France. 
Their  successors  have  not  seen  fit  to  array 
this  ancient  fortress  in  that  lighter  dress 
which  we  find  clothing  other  chateaux  of 
France.  It  would  seem  that  they  preferred 
to  retain  in  its  simplicity  the  glorious  tra- 
ditions of  their  race,  and  let  it  stand  as  a 
silent  witness  to  their  deeds.  As  such,  we 
must  approach  the  chateau,  and  take  from  it 
that  sense  of  ancient  hardihood  which  char- 
acterized the  origin  and  growth  of  France. 
Let  us  descend  again  these  ancient  steps 
and  wander  through  the  little  town,  pictur- 
esque in  its  quaint  tangle  of  houses,  and 
observe  a  delightful  example  of  the  timbered 
house  of  the  fifteenth  century.  It  has  carved 
pillars,  with  the  figures  of  the  Madonna  and 
St.  Christopher,  and  is  one  of  the  features 
of  the  village.     Such   is  the   general   aspect 

362 


Among  the  Inns  of  Touraine 

of  Luynes;  a  clustering  town,  crowned  by 
the  castle  upon  the  height  above  it,  the  usual 
arrangement  which  we  find  in  France  for 
the  chateaux  which  were  built  primarily  for 
defensive   purposes. 

Returning  to  Tours,  we  made  our  way 
on  the  following  day  to  Loches.  Near  it  is 
the  sixteenth-century  Chateau  de  Sansac, 
which  is  a  pleasing  example  of  the  Renais- 
sance. From  it  we  may  observe  Loches 
rising  before  us,  the  towers  of  its  church  and 
the  great  dungeon  lifting  themselves  upon 
the  brow  of  the  hill  upon  which  they  stand, 
while  below  in  the  valley  are,  here  and 
there,  poplar-trees,  which  give  to  the  whole 
scene  an  element  of  romance.  A  mile  from 
Loches  is  Beaulieu,  whose  streets  and  houses 
are  delightfully  picturesque,  more  so,  in  a 
sense,  than  those  of  Loches. 

Beaulieu  has  many  attractive  points, 
among  them  the  abbey  church,  part  of  which 
is  now  ruined,  which  was  built  by  Foulques 
Nerra  in  the  eleventh  century,  and  where  he 
lies  buried.  There  is  an  interesting  pulpit 
which  stands  outside  of  the  abbot's  house, 
which  is  a  noticeable  point  for  visitors  to 
pause  and  admire;  and  the  old  mill  beside 
the   river  has   a   rare   charm  which   has   at- 

363 


Among  French  Inns 

tracted  many  artists  in  summer,  and  where, 
if  we  are  able  with  our  brush,  we,  too,  may 
pause  and  draw  from  it  a  picture  to  keep 
as  a  souvenir  of  the  picturesque  qualities  of 
Beaulieu. 

Thus  we  arrive  at  Loches,  that  sinister  and 
forbidding  abode  of  monarchs  in  mediaeval 
France,  that  dungeon,  where  the  spirits  of 
many  a  noble  victim  wore  themselves  out  in 
hopeless  longing  for  freedom  while  enclosed 
beneath  the  gray  stone  walls  that  served 
them  as  a  prison.  What  memories  of 
Charles  le  Chauve,  of  Richard  Cceur  de 
Lion,  of  Philippe  Auguste,  of  Louis  XL, 
return  to  us  as  we  mount  this  hill  and 
wander  through  the  ruined  citadel!  It  is  a 
tale  of  misery,  sorrow,  and  despair,  of  tor- 
ture, evil-doing,  and  tyranny,  that  weaves 
itself  into  the  history  of  Loches. 

The  town,  starting  upon  the  bank  of  the 
Loire,  opposite  Beaulieu,  is  a  picturesque 
tangle  of  houses,  many  of  them  of  great  age, 
and  rises  to  the  hill  above,  where  we  enter 
the  precincts  of  the  castle.  The  origin  of 
the  town  is  said  to  have  been  coincident 
with  that  of  the  monastery  founded  in  the 
fifth  century  by  St.  Ours.  In  the  following 
century    the    castle    made    its     appearance. 

364 


Among  the  Inns  of  Touraine 

From  the  ninth  to  the  thirteenth  century 
Loches  was  the  property  of  the  Anjous.  In 
the  twelfth  century  it  was  taken  by  Richard 
Coeur  de  Lion.  Retaken  by  Philippe 
Auguste,  it  was  given  by  him  to  his  Con- 
stable of  France. 

Loches  has  always  been  a  combination  of 
royal  residence  and  prison.  Many  of  the 
French  kings  have  dwelt  there,  and  perhaps 
its  most  sinister  recollections  date  from  the 
reign  of  Louis  XL  We  alighted  at  the 
Hotel  de  la  Promenade  in  the  little  town, 
and  set  forth  almost  immediately  to  visit  the 
chateau.  The  donjon  rises  in  gloomy  stern- 
ness, its  Romanesque  architecture  of  the 
twelfth  century  being  well  suited  to  its  uses 
as  a  prison.  Here  the  Due  d'Alengon,  the 
Comte  de  Tours,  Thibault  the  Third,  and 
many  others,  were  imprisoned.  The  par- 
tially ruined  buildings  and  walls  of  the  an- 
cient fortress  cover  a  great  space  upon  the 
crest  of  the  hill.  They  form  almost  a  minia- 
ture city  in  themselves,  now  dead,  but  once 
teeming  with  life,  with  human  feeling  and 
intrigues,  with  royal  commands,  with  mili- 
tary accompaniments  of  the  court  of  France; 
and  beneath  it  all  the  unheard  cries  of 
prisoners  enclosed  in  living  tombs,  or  going 

365 


Among  French  Inns 

to  their  death  in  the  mysterious  watches  of 
the  night.  Such  were  the  days  of  Loches 
at  the  time  when  Louis  XI.  held  sway,  and 
wore  his  famous  cap,  crowned  with  the 
images  of  saints,  which  he  so  poorly  imitated 
in  life. 

One  of  the  most  famous  portions  of  the 
castle  is  the  Prison  des  fiveques.  Here  we 
find  one  of  the  most  pathetic  remains  of  the 
history  of  those  royal  prisons,  in  the  simple 
Chemin  de  la  Croix,  fashioned  by  the 
bishops  during  their  imprisonment.  From 
the  walls  of  their  cell  rude  pictures  of  our 
Saviour's  Passion  looked  down  upon  them, 
and  aided  them  in  the  celebration  of  their 
mass.  Our  guide  shows  us  the  marks  of 
their  hands,  which  still  remain,  where  they 
clung  to  the  walls,  in  their  endeavour  to 
obtain  some  light  from  the  narrow  opening 
which  served  them  as  a  window.  How 
awful  must  have  been  their  confinement,  and 
how  great  the  sufferings  of  these  two  divines, 
we  may  readily  imagine,  as  we  look  upon 
these  evidences  of  the  past.  Let  us  leave 
them  and  visit  La  Tour  Ronde,  where  hung 
the  iron  cages  in  which  were  suspended  the 
Cardinal  de  Balue  and  other  victims  of  the 
cruelty  of  Louis  XL     They  were  not  more 

366 


Among  the  Inns  of  Touraine 

than  seven  or  eight  feet  square,  and  whether 
the  cardinal  was  ever  suspended  in  one  of 
them  or  not,  —  there  is  a  question,  —  they 
certainly  held  other  prisoners.  There  was 
a  secret  passage,  the  remains  of  which  still 
exist  at  Loches,  where  Louis  XL  could  come 
and  taunt  his  prisoners  as  they  hung  in 
mid-air.  He  was  frequently  accompanied 
by  Oliver  le  Dain,  a  fitting  companion  for 
such  an  errand.  There  the  king,  when  not 
praying  to  the  images  upon  his  cap,  would 
indulge  himself  in  all  the  wickedness  of  his 
soul,  and  add  insults  to  the  injury  which  he 
was  already  doing  to  others  less  powerful 
than  himself. 

These  are  the  gloomy,  we  might  almost 
say  repugnant,  recollections  of  Loches,  now 
a  dignified  ruin,  bathed  in  the  sunlight  of 
heaven,  and  serving  the  peaceful  ends  of  all 
historic  monuments  in  France  to-day, — 
the  reception  of  visitors  from  other  portions 
of  the  world  who  make  their  pilgrimages 
to  such  time-honoured  spots. 

The  remains  of  Le  Martelet,  a  fifteenth- 
century  building,  still  exist;  the  upper  por- 
tions have  been  destroyed.  In  it  were  the 
common  prisons  of  Loches.  One  of  the 
most   interesting  was   that  where   Ludovico 

367 


Among  French  Inns 

Sforza  was  incarcerated  for  a  term  of  nine 
years.  The  walls  are  covered  with  half- 
effaced  frescoes,  or  drawings,  as  well  as  a 
portrait  of  himself,  made  with  the  simple 
materials  which  he  had  at  hand. 

Let  us  leave  such  unhappy  scenes  to  his- 
torians who  are  more  inclined  to  dwell  upon 
the  painful  passages  of  history,  and  pass  on 
for  a  brief  visit  to  the  church  and  town, 
before  leaving  Loches  behind  us  and  pro- 
ceeding farther  south.  The  church  stands 
upon  that  portion  of  the  hill  covered  by  the 
remains  of  the  chateau.  It  was  begun  in 
962  by  the  father  of  Foulques  Nerra,  and 
continued  by  the  latter.  If  we  may  quote  the 
words  of  Viollet-le-Duc,  who  has  written 
of  this  church,  "  it  is  possessed  of  a  savage 
beauty,  a  strange  monument,  into  which 
are  moulded  the  influences  of  Oriental  art 
with  the  methods  of  construction  that  were 
adopted  in  the  North  at  the  beginning  of  the 
twelfth  century."  It  possesses  a  superb 
portal  of  that  period,  and  is,  on  the  whole, 
an  interesting,  though  rather  severe,  build- 
ing. Its  towers  are  uneven,  but  rise  in 
majestic  dignity  against  the  sky. 

Descending  to  the  town,  we  may  observe 
the    Tour    St.    Antoine,    the    remains    of    a 

368 


,  »  \->  »    >  > 


HOTEL     DE    LA     PROMENADE     AND     TOUR     ST.     ANTOINE, 
LOCHES 


Among  the  Inns  of  Touraine 

Renaissance  church.  Another  feature  is  the 
Hotel  Nau,  in  which  are  some  tapestries 
and  a  fine  chimney,  with  a  bust  of  Diane  de 
Poitiers.  The  Hotel  de  Ville,  as  well  as 
some  good  houses,  are  all  of  the  Renais- 
sance. 

"  It  is  interesting  and  heroic,"  said  the 
Englishman  to  Mrs.  Wilton,  as  they  walked 
back  to  the  hotel,  "  but  there  is  something 
rather  bare  and  forbidding  about  it  all." 

"  I  don't  know  but  what  I  agree  with 
you,"  replied  the  latter.  "  Let  us  try  and 
forget  about  the  prisons  at  dinner,  and  get 
Count  di  Pomponi  to  tell  us  a  -story  about 
some  of  his  love-doings  in  Italy,  for  I  feel 
as  if  I  needed  diversion." 

"  What  is  the  plan  for  to-morrow?  "  asked 
George  Van  Cortland,  as  they  met  at  the  inn 
for  dinner. 

"  Well,  I  guess  we're  going  back  to  Tours, 
and  then  right  down  into  Provence  as  fast 
as  we  can  go,"  said  Mr.  Wilton,  with  a 
wink  of  his  eye,  "  for  I  expect  you  young 
people  will  be  wanting  to  get  up  to  Paris 
pretty  soon." 

"  Ah,  signorina,"  said  the  count  to  Miss 
Wilton    across    the    table,    "  what   a   beauti- 


369 


Among  French  Inns 

ful    ring   that   is    upon    the    finger   of   your 
hand!" 

"  I  am  glad  you  like  it,"  said  Gladys, 
blushing.  "  It  is  the  ring  which  George  has 
given  me." 


370 


CHAPTER  XII 

IN  OLD  PROVENCE 

On  our  return  to  the  Hotel  de  TUnivers, 
at  Tours,  we  were  glad  of  a  chance  to  rest, 
and  so  remained  a  day  or  two  before  start- 
ing on  our  journey  southward. 

Thinking  it  would  take  too  long  to  go 
comfortably  by  automobile,  we  took  one  of 
the  good  trains  to  Lyons,  sending  the  ma- 
chines ahead  to  meet  us  there.  The  journey 
is  a  pretty  one,  by  way  of  Chateauroux, 
Montlugon,  and  Roanne.  Lyons  is  a  large 
city,  in  fact,  the  second  largest  in  France. 
It  is  the  capital  of  the  Departement  du 
Rhone,  and  lies  at  the  joining  of  the  river 
Rhone  with  that  of  the  Saone.  On  the 
banks  of  the  latter  rise  the  oldest  and  most 
picturesque  portions  of  the  city. 

We  were  driven  to  the  Hotel  de  TEurope, 
in  the  Rue  de  Bellecour,  which  has  a  fine 
view.  After  visiting  the  sights,  which  in- 
clude the  cathedral  and  the  Galerie  de  Pein- 

371 


Among  French  Inns 

ture,  in  which  is  a  fine  collection  of  pic- 
tures, we  entered  the  automobiles  to  continue 
our  journey  through  the  valley  of  the  Rhone 
into  Provence.  Our  machines  were  certainly 
the  perfection  of  art  in  the  manufacture  of 
automobiles,  and  carried  us  over  the  smooth 
roads  with  a  speed  and  ease  as  unusual  as 
it  was  agreeable. 

As  we  sped  southward  through  the  Midi 
of  France,  the  sun  sent  out  a  radiant  quality 
which  is  only  to  be  met  with  in  the  South, 
and  gave  to  everything  an  almost  dreamlike 
atmosphere.  Can  we  wonder  at  the  story 
of  Tennyson's  ''  Lotos  Eaters,"  or  at  the 
dolce  far  niente  of  the  Italian,  when  we 
breathe  in  this  exotic  air,  that  gives  its  lan- 
guid tendency  to  mankind,  and  soothes  us  to 
fancies  and  dreams?  There  is  a  subtle  influ- 
ence in  every  breath,  which  charms  us  with 
its  sense  of  unreality.  Yet  it  is  real,  and  pro- 
duces a  very  definite  reality  of  life,  full  of 
art,  of  history,  of  interest,  to  those  who  study 
it. 

Provence,  that  ancient  province  in  the 
southeastern  portion  of  France,  contains 
much  that  is  architecturally  and  historically 
delightful  to  the  traveller.  The  old  flavour 
of  the  French,  touched  by  the  Italian  influ- 

372 


In  Old  Provence 

ence,  mellow  and  alluring,  pervades  this 
country  from  the  valley  of  the  Rhone  toward 
Northern   Italy. 

South  of  Lyons,  and  on  the  Rhone,  is 
Vienne.  The  Gers  empties  into  the  larger 
river  here,  and'  behind  the  town  rises  Mont 
Salomon.  We  stayed  at  the  Hotel  du  Nord, 
and  visited  the  ancient  temple  of  Augustus 
and  Livia,  which  has  remained  from  the 
Roman  days,  and  which  possesses  some  beau- 
tiful fluted  columns.  Near  it  are  indications 
of  a  Roman  forum,  long  since  demolished. 

The  cathedral  of  St.  Maurice,  which  dates 
back  as  far  as  the  eleventh  century,  is  a 
picturesque  church  of  the  flamboyant  Gothic 
style,  approached  by  a  large  flight  of  steps 
at  the  end  of  a  street. 

In  the  Boulevard  Pyramide  is  the  ancient 
obelisk,  known  as  I'Aiguille,  standing  upon 
a  Roman  arch.  It  formed,  originally,  part 
of  a  circus,  which  has  almost  entirely  dis- 
appeared. 

"  How  different  all  this  is  from  Tou- 
raine,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton,  as  she  stood  look- 
ing at  the  cathedral. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Frenchman.  "  You  know 
Vienne  was  the  ancient  capital  of  Burgundy, 
and  has  often  been  a  place  of  residence  for 

373 


Among  French  Inns 

the  Dauphins  of  France.  What  a  change 
now  from  the  life  of  other  days,  when  the 
younger  court  held  sway  here.  Let  us  go 
and  look  at  the  old  theatre.  There  is  a 
picturesque  gateway,  which  is  very  Italian 
in  effect." 

They  wandered  on  and  found  the  gateway 
an  attractive  subject  for  a  sketch,  which 
Mary  Van  Cortland  took  an  opportunity 
of  making,  with  very  pleasing  results. 

It  seemed  to  the  writer  of  these  pages  that 
he  had  rarely  seen  so  much  taste  shown  in 
a  water-colour  sketch,  and  he  was  inclined 
to  look  at  it  with  unusual  appreciation;  but 
that  may  have  been  from  eyes  that  were 
prejudiced  in  her  favour,  so  attractive  did 
she  seem  to  him.  The  air  of  the  south  is 
conducive  to  romance,  and  there  is  no  tell- 
ing what  havoc  it  may  not  work  in  the  heart 
when  least  expected. 

From  Vienne  to  Valence  is  a  beautiful 
journey  along  the  borders  of  the  Rhone,  its 
valley  running  through  southeastern  France 
to  Avignon  and  Aries,  and  making  the 
western  boundary  of  Provence.  There  are 
many  delightful  places  to  visit  between 
Lyons  and  Avignon;  but  we  paused  only 
at  Valence,   situated   near   the   point  where 

374 


In  Old  Provence 

the  river  Isere  empties  into  the  Rhone,  and 
from  there  pushed  farther  south. 

We  were  ready  to  start  on  this  trip,  when 
it  was  suggested  by  the  Frenchman  that  we 
should  diverge  from  our  course,  and,  strik- 
ing to  the  eastward,  visit  La  Grande  Char- 
treuse. Although  it  was  some  distance  out 
of  our  way,  we  decided  that  it  was  too  good 
an  opportunity  to  lose,  and,  changing  our 
plans,  set  out  for  this  interesting  spot. 

The  shortest  route  from  Vienne  was  by 
way  of  Chambery,  due  east,  and  half  the 
distance  between  the  Rhone  and  the  Italian 
frontier.  We  arrived  at  Chambery  in  the 
evening,  and  put  up  at  the  Hotel  d'Angle- 
terre,  which  we  found  comfortable  enough 
for  our  purposes.  The  town  was  the  ancient 
capital  of  Savoie,  and  has  a  cathedral  and 
an  old  chateau  of  the  thirteenth  century. 

The  next  morning  we  went  on  to  La 
Grande  Chartreuse,  which  is  a  most  de- 
lightful ride  of  about  thirty  kilometres.  The 
nearest  place  to  the  monastery  is  St.  Laurent 
du  Pont,  about  twelve  kilometres  distant, 
from  which  point  carriages  may  be  taken. 
We  pushed  on  to  the  objective  point  through 
interesting  mountain  scenery,  more  like  that 
of  Switzerland  than  France.     The  Cascade 

375 


Among  French  Inns 

de  Couz,  described  by  George  Sand,  is 
still  attractive,  and  merits  a  pause  in  an 
excursion.  At  Les  Echelles  we  obtained 
our  first  view  of  La  Grande  Chartreuse, 
nestling  among  the  mountains  dotted  with 
evergreen  trees. 

At  St.  Laurent  we  follow  the  little  moun- 
tain torrent,  and  pass  the  factory  where  the 
famous  liqueur  is  made,  which  has  made  the 
name  of  Chartreuse  famous  throughout  the 
world.  Mounting  the  beautiful  road  which 
winds  up  the  steep,  rocky  ascent,  we  reach 
the  monastery.  The  whole  character  of  the 
scene  is  as  different  as  can  be  from  those 
parts  of  France  which  we  have  been  visit- 
ing, and  the  contrast  makes  it  all  the  more 
interesting. 

La  Grande  Chartreuse  is  one  of  the  most 
important  and  famous  of  French  monas- 
teries, still  keeping  up  its  sacred  work  and 
cloistered  life.  It  was  founded  by  St.  Bruno 
in  the  eleventh  century.  He  repaired  to  the 
French  Alps,  and,  accompanied  by  a  few 
companions,  obtained  a  grant  of  land,  and 
there  established  this  institution.  The  pres- 
ent buildings  date  from  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, and  are  picturesque,  with  their  pointed 
roofs   and  severe   pinarets,   as  well   as   their 

376 


In  Old  Provence 

double  rows  of  small  windows,  in  keeping 
with  the  scenery  about  them. 

La  Grande  Chartreuse  has  been  the  meet- 
ing-place of  the  Carthusian  monks  for  cen- 
turies. The  income  derived  by  the  monks 
from  the  sale  of  their  liqueur  is  large,  and 
this  they  expend  in  good  works  throughout 
the  surrounding  country.  The  vast  buildings 
and  galleries  are  most  interesting  to  visit, 
and  so  engrossed  were  we  in  our  inspection 
that  we  ended  by  staying  for  luncheon, 
which  is  served  to  visitors  at  a  moderate 
price,  and  we  finally  decided  to  remain  over- 
night. 

"  Dear  me,  how  strange  it  seems  to  be 
staying  in  a  convent,"  said  Mrs.  Wilton. 
'^  Apparently  we  have  to  stay  in  a  different 
place  from  the  gentlemen,  and  are  not  even 
allowed  to  enter  the  monastery.  There  are 
two  sisters  at  a  building  called  the  Infir- 
merie,  who  are  very  kind,  and  say  we  are 
to  remain  there." 

The  Frenchman  was  in  raptures  at  being 
able  to  stay  at  La  Grande  Chartreuse,  and 
the  other  gentlemen  of  the  party  were 
pleased  also.  We  slept  in  cells,  comfortably 
enough,  rose  early,  and  had  a  very  good 
breakfast    at    half-past    eight.      The    monks 

377 


Among  French  Inns 

arose  at  five  and  began  their  devotions, 
which  are  continued  at  intervals  through- 
out the  day  and  evening.  We  found  them 
most  agreeable  to  talk  to,  and,  on  the  whole, 
enjoyed  thoroughly  our  visit  to  this  interest- 
ing place.  Before  leaving,  the  next  day,  we 
all  visited  the  little  chapel  of  St.  Bruno,  a 
tiny  shrine  perched  upon  a  rock  among  the 
trees,  at  the  spot  where  the  founder  of  the 
monastery  established  his  first  hermitage. 

From  Chambery  we  journeyed  to  Grenoble 
and  thence  to  Valence,  leaving  the  charming 
scenery  of  the  French  Alps  for  the  valley 
of  the  Rhone  once  more.  There  is  an  old 
familiar  saying  in   French  that, — 

"A  Valence 
Le  Midi  commence,"  — 

though  we  are  accustomed  to  associate  it 
with  places  even  farther  north.  It  is,  how- 
ever, a  typical  town  of  Le  Midi,  and  is 
to-day  the  capital  of  the  Departement  de  la 
Drome.  In  the  fifteenth  century  Louis  XII. 
gave  the  Comte  de  Valentinois  to  Caesar 
Borgia,  and  with  it  the  capital  town  of 
Valence.  It  was  from  here  that  Diane  de 
Poitiers,  the  beautiful  mistress  of  the  French 
king,  derived  her  title  of  duchess,  and  with 

378 


In  Old  Provence 

her  name  it  has  since  been  associated.  The 
Hotel  du  Louvre  et  de  la  Poste  is  a  pleasant 
place  to  stay,  in  spite  of  its  long  name. 
There  we  spent  a  day  wandering  about  and 
inspecting  the  cathedral,  which  is  strongly 
Roman  in  character.  In  it  is  a  bust  of  Pope 
Pius  VI.,  whose  heart  reposes  in  a  sepul- 
chre. 

The  association  of  the  Popes  with  South- 
ern France  was  very  important,  and  lasted 
for  the  whole  period  of  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury. They  resided  at  Avignon,  where  their 
ancient  capital  is,  and  even  after  their  re- 
turn to  Rome,  in  the  fifteenth  century,  they 
still  ruled  through  one  of  their  representa- 
tives. This  fact  has  added,  more  than  most 
things,  to  the  influence  of  the  Italian  spirit 
over  this  portion  of  France,  and  we  observe 
its  evidences  at  all  points. 

From  Valence  to  Montelimar,  and  from 
there  to  Orange,  is  a  delightful  journey, 
along  the  banks  of  the  Rhone,  the  great 
river  running  always  southward  to  the 
Mediterranean.  Here  we  reach  at  last  the 
real  doorway  of  old  Provence,  the  land  of 
the  ancient  farandola,  of  serenades,  of  ro- 
mance and  chivalry.  We  are  no  longer  in 
Touraine.     The  courts  of  the  French  kings 

379 


Among  French  Inns 

have  lost  the  character  which  they  possessed 
in  Normandy  or  elsewhere.  Here  we  may 
live  again  in  the  days  of  the  troubadours, 
and  hear  the  sounds  of  the  guitar  and  the 
tambourine  accompanying  the  legends  and 
folk-songs  of  their  times.  The  days  of  the 
Crusades  have  returned  anew,  and  we  are 
in  an  atmosphere  as  different  as  can  be 
imagined  from  that  of  other  portions  of 
France. 

The  real  character  of  old  Provence  is  to 
be  found  in  these  places  bordering  upon  the 
Rhone,  or  eastward  toward  the  Alps.  It 
is  in  such  places  as  Orange,  Avignon,  Digne, 
and  Aix,  that  we  find  the  true  temperament 
and  feeling  of  this  ancient  province.  In  the 
southern  towns  of  the  coast,  which  form  the 
Riviera  of  France,  are  to  be  found  the 
activity  and  life  of  to-day.  The  new  Pro- 
vence extends  from  Marseilles  to  Toulon, 
Hyeres,  Cannes,  and  Nice,  rather  than  upon 
the  northern  slopes  of  les  Alps  Maritimes. 
The  southern  coast  is  filled  with  the  modern, 
artificial  life  of  fashion  and  the  world  of 
to-day.  The  ancient  character  is  elsewhere, 
and  this  we  are  in  search  of  in  our  present 
pilgrimage. 

Orange  is  a  most  interesting  place  from 
380 


In  Old  Provence 

this  point  of  view.  Its  aspect  is  that  which 
we  would  associate  with  the  days  of  the 
Emperor  Charlemagne,  or  the  Prince  of 
Orange.  It  is  *the  place  from  which  that 
well-worn  title  in  European  history  has 
emanated,  and  represents  the  independence 
of  a  principality,  besieged  by  a  king  of 
France.  Orange  was  originally  the  capital 
of  the  Cavares,  and  in  the  reign  of  Charle- 
magne was  made  a  countship;  but  not  until 
after  the  Treaty  of  Utrecht  did  it  become 
properly  a  part  of  France. 

Architecturally  the  town  is  important,  and 
deserves  the  attention  of  every  one  who  is 
interested  in  such  monuments  as  the  Arch 
of  Augustus,  the  "Chateau  de  I'Arc  "  (the 
abode  of  the  Princes  of  Orange),  the  cathe- 
dral, or  the  Roman  theatre.  Though  the 
Visigoths  did  much  damage  to  the  ancient 
monuments  of  Orange,  these  still  remain,  to 
remind  us  of  the  days  of  Gaul  and  the  later 
Emperors  of  Rome. 

"  It  is  almost  like  being  in  Italy,  is  it  not, 
George?"  said  Gladys,  as  they  stopped  at 
the  Hotel  de  la  Poste  to  rest,  after  a  walk 
through  the  town  and  a  view  of  its  sights. 

"  Yes,"  said  George.  "  I  wonder,  dear, 
if  you  really  would  like  to  go  there  on  our 

381 


Among  French  Inns 

wedding-tour.  I  think  it  would  be  ideal 
myself." 

"  What  are  you  two  talking  about  there?  " 
queried  Mrs.  Wilton,  as  she  joined  them. 
"  But,  then,  I  suppose  I  should  not  ask. 
Of  course  you  are  making  love  and  deciding 
on  plans  for  the  wedding.  There  is  only  one 
thing  I  pray,  though,  Gladys,  and  that  is 
that  you  will  not  do  anything  more  without 
consulting  your  mother.  It  was  bad  enough 
to  have  you  run  off  from  Trouville  with 
your  father  and  get  engaged;  but  if  you 
make  any  private  arrangements  about  the 
wedding,  I  do  not  think  I  could  bear  it." 

That  was  a  field  in  which  Mrs.  Wilton 
felt  herself  rightfully  entitled  to  display 
her  powers  and  her  energy.  She  intended  to 
make  the  Van  Cortland-Wilton  wedding 
one  long  to  be  remembered  in  the  glorious 
annals  of  Hymen.  With  this  in  view,  she 
was  already  beginning  to  make  preparations. 
Hardly  a  day  passed  that  she  did  not  des- 
patch letters  to  her  daughter's  dressmakers 
in  Paris  to  prepare  for  their  coming.  For, 
once  there,  not  a  moment  could  be  lost; 
every  day  would  be  filled  to  overflowing 
before  they  left  for  America. 

With  these  thoughts  in  her  mind,  Mrs. 
382 


In  Old  Provence 

Wilton  set  out  the  following  day,  with  the 
rest  of  her  party,  for  Avignon  and  Tarascon. 
There  is  a  charmingly  picturesque  place 
near  by  called  Vaison,  with  an  old  inn, 
where  we  paused  upon  our  way.  The  inn 
is  the  Hotel  de  la  Commerce.  The  place 
dates  from  the  early  centuries,  and  is  said 
to  have  been  founded  by  the  Greeks,  and  to 
have  been  a  rich  and  flourishing  city,  after 
the  Romans  overran  the  country. 

Thus,  on  to  Avignon,  which  seems,  as  it 
were,  the  centre  of  the  thoughts  which  are 
associated  with  Provence.  We  alighted  at 
the  Hotel  de  TEurope,  which  may  be  recom- 
mended in  many  ways,  and  where  the  travel- 
ler is  likely  to  be  comfortable  during  his 
stay.  The  town  of  Avignon  has  had  a  long 
and  notable  history,  out  of  which  arise  the 
majestic  figures  of  the  several  Popes,  who, 
for  a  century,  made  it  the  seat  of  the  Holy 
See. 

Its  situation  is  picturesque,  sublime  almost, 
as  it  rises  upon  the  hill  above  the  waters  of 
the  river,  that  lies  in  beautiful  stillness  in  the 
evening  light.  As  the  capital  of  the  De- 
partement  de  Vaucluse,  it  still  holds  an 
important  place  in  this  portion  of  Provence. 
The  great  Gothic  palace  of  the   Popes  re- 

383 


Among  French  Inns 

mains  in  stern  and  warlike  grandeur  within 
the  town.  It  is  rather  the  fortified  relic  of  a 
temporal  than  of  a  spiritual  sovereign. 
Still,  in  those  days  the  temporal  power  held 
sway,  and  men  were  filled  with  ^the  wild 
passions  and  religious  controversies  that  dis- 
tressed the  middle  ages,  and  made  such 
places  necessary. 

We  might  remain  long  at  Avignon  and 
describe  with  pleasure  its  churches,  its 
palaces,  its  convents,  and  its  museum;  but 
we  must  away,  and  leave  behind  us  the 
beautiful  bridge  of  St.  Benezet,  which,  in 
other  centuries,  joined  Provence  to  Langue- 
doc.  Tarascon  and  Aries  lie  before,  and 
beckon  us  toward  their  gates.  We  leave  the 
ancient  capital  of  the  Popes  with  a  genuine 
regret,  to  follow  still  farther  the  course  of 
the  Rhone  to  Tarascon. 

If  we  turn  a  little  from  our  path  we  shall 
have  an  opportunity  to  visit,  in  the  direction 
of  Nimes,  the  famous  Pont  du  Gard,  per- 
haps the  finest  aqueduct  in  existence.  It  was 
built,  in  a  series  of  immense  arches  over  the 
river,  in  the  reign  of  Agrippa,  to  carry  the 
waters  to  Nimes.  The  arches  have  been 
rightly  compared  to  those  upon  the  sides  of 
a  cathedral.     It  is,   in  effect,   a  grand   and 

384 


In  Old  Provence 

picturesque  sight,  in  every  way  Roman  in 
character,  and  bearing  the  dignity  of  a  score 
of  centuries. 

A  little  northwest  of  Avignon  is  Uzes,  the 
seat  of  the  premier  Due  de  France.  The 
Chateau  of  La  Duche  is  a  superb  palace, 
opened  to  visitors  in  the  absence  of  the 
Duchesse  d'Uzes,  who  is  distinguished  for 
her  charities.  The  Due  d'Uzes  became  the 
first  of  the  French  dues  under  Louis  XIIL, 
taking  precedence  of  the  Due  de  Luynes,  on 
account  of  arriving  first  at  the  palace,  having, 
according  to  the  historical  anecdote,  over- 
turned the  latter's  carriage  in  his  haste  to 
be  first  before  the  king  to  verify  his  title. 

After  leaving  Uzes,  where  there  is  a  good 
inn  known  as  the  Hotel  Ferdinand  Bechard, 
we  proceeded  to  Tarascon,  which  is  to  the 
south  and  upon  the  banks  of  the  Rhone.  The 
Hotel  des  Empereurs  opened  its  arms  to 
us,  and  we  alighted  and  proceeded  to  wander 
about  the  town,  as  was  our  usual  custom. 
Tarascon  has  all  the  flavour  of  Provence, 
having  been  one  of  the  cities  of  Gaul  under 
the  Romans.  In  later  centuries  it  was  part 
of  the  domain  of  the  Counts  of  Provence. 

There  is  a  beautiful  Gothic  church  at 
Tarascon,  with  a  delicate  spire  rising  behind 

385 


Among  French  Inns 

the  view  of  the  square  fourteenth-century 
castle,  which  stands  beside  the  river,  and 
seems  almost  to  rise  out  of  it.  Its  rocky  foun- 
dation is  at  one  end  of  a  large  suspension- 
bridge  across  the  river,  and  upon  the  opposite 
side  is  the  ancient  castle  of  Beaucaire.  Its 
square  towers,  with  mediaeval  battlements, 
stand  high  against  the  hill  behind  the  town, 
and  are  reflected  in  the  waters  at  their  feet. 
It  is  a  fitting  companion  to  the  castle  of 
Tarascon,  now  unfortunately  used  as  a 
prison. 

From  Tarascon  to  Aries,  still  on  the 
Rhone,  is  not  a  long  ride.  There  the 
Hotel  du  Nord  is  good,  and  graced  by  a 
delightful  hostess,  which  adds  to  the  comfort 
of  her  guests.  The  town  is  full  of  interest- 
ing things,  not  least  of  which  are  its  women, 
who  are  noted  for  their  beauty.  The  clois- 
ters of  St.  Trophime,  its  Roman  theatre,  its 
Arenes,  are  all  grand  and  imposing,  and  a 
delight  to  see.  We  spent  several  days  in 
studying  the  wonderful  archaeologic  treas- 
ures of  this  greater  city  of  Gaul,  with  its 
relics  of  Roman  days. 

From  Aries  to  Aix  via  Rognac  is  an 
interesting  trip.  We  may  mention  Ma- 
nosque,    with    its    pleasant    inn,    the    Hotel 

386 


In  Old  Provence 

Pascal,  as  well  as  Riez,  with  its  beautiful 
Corinthian  columns,  like  those  of  the  Forum 
at  Rome,  in  passing.  They  are  both  worthy 
of  a  visit  for  those  who  are  able  to  make  a 
digression  in  their  journey  through  this 
corner  of  France. 

Aix  itself  was  the  ancient  capital  of 
Provence,  and  as  such  demands  our  atten- 
tion and  study.  At  the  Hotel  Negre-Coste 
we  ensconced  ourselves  and  enjoyed  a  few 
days'  visit  to  the  town.  It  was  here  that  the 
Counts  of  Provence  held  their  courts  and 
reigned  supreme.  The  original  Roman 
camp,  from  which  Aix  has  sprung,  was 
entirely  destroyed  by  the  Saracens,  who 
besieged  Provence,  and  traces  of  whose  at- 
tacks appear  in  the  history  of  Riez.  To-day 
the  town  is  neat  and  attractive,  with  an 
avenue  known  as  the  Cours  Mirabeau  in  its 
centre.  The  thirteenth-century  church  of 
St.  Jean  de  Malte  contains  tombs  of  some  of 
the  old  reigning  Counts  of  Provence.  The 
cathedral,  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  and  the  Tour 
de  THorloge,  are  all  interesting  and  worthy 
of  a  visit.  The  houses  of  the  old  Provengal 
nobles  still  remain,  and  denote  the  luxury 
of  their  day. 

From  Aix  we  journeyed   to   Meyrargues, 

387 


Among  French  Inns 

Les  Arcs,  and  Grasse;  thence  to  Digne,  Sis- 
teron,  Veynes,  and  Grenoble,  from  which 
place  we  took  the  train  north,  and  sent  the 
automobiles  to  meet  us  near  Fontainebleau, 
where  our  next  pilgrimage  was  to  be  made. 


l^"^ 


CHAPTER   XIII 

AT  THE  HOTEL  DE  LA  FORET 
Barbizon 

On  entering  the  Department  of  Seine  et 
Marne  we  proceeded,  by  way  of  Fontaine- 
bleau,  to  Barbizon,  a  charming  place  much 
frequented  by  artists,  who  gather  there  in 
summer  and  make  studies  of  the  country 
round  about. 

Nothing  can  be  more  conducive  to  the 
inspiration  of  an  artist  than  the  imaginative 
atmosphere  of  the  forest  of  Fontainebleau, 
with  its  fairylike  foliage,  its  brooks  and 
rocky  streams,  whispering  melodies  in  sum- 
mer, and  giving  a  refreshing  sound  of  mur- 
muring waters.  It  takes  the  visitor  by  the 
hand  and  leads  him,  willing  or  not,  into  that 
enchanted  atmosphere  which  pervades  at 
once  all  France,  as  well  as  the  environs  of 
Paris. 

In  Normandy  and  Brittany  nature  holds 
sway,   and  we   follow   it   in   its   picturesque 

389 


Among  French  Inns 

pageantry,  but  here  the  hands  of  man,  in- 
spired by  successive  Kings  of  France, —  mon- 
archs  whose  conceptions  were  as  magnificent 
as  the  power  which  enabled  them  to  be  grati- 
fied, —  have  trained  and  utilized  the  beauties 
of  nature  into  a  more  careful  and  distinctive 
form.  This,  time  has  mellowed,  and  the 
result  may  well  be  termed  an  enchanted 
paradise,  as  ideal  as  it  is  alluring. 

The  Hotel  de  la  Foret,  at  Barbizon,  is  truly 
a  rural  abode,  and  one  well  fitted  to  conclude 
a  pilgrimage  to  rustic  France,  —  one  which 
we  are  loath  to  leave,  and  which  we  must 
always  remember  with  pleasure.  Its  pictur- 
esque exterior  is  only  equalled  by  the  attrac- 
tion of  its  hospitality  and  the  kindness  of  its 
hosts,  who  received  our  party  with  every 
evidence  of  friendliness  and  affection. 

George  and  Gladys  were  too  deeply  in 
love  to  care  very  much  where  they  were 
But  the  Hotel  de  la  Foret  was  for  them  a 
pleasing  setting  to  their  mood.  Here,  and 
in  the  forest,  they  could,  as  Mr.  Wilton  put 
it,  "  bill  and  coo,"  as  much  as  they  liked,  and 
no  one  would  think  it  extraordinary. 

"  Ah,  he  is  lucky,  ce  Monsieur  Van  Cort- 
land," said  the  Frenchman  to  Count  Romeo, 
the  evening  they  arrived. 

390 


» 
■» 


At  the  Hotel  de  la  Foret 

"  Yes,"  said  the  latter,  "  yes,  it  is  the  loave 
that  he  has,  not  we,  mon  cher;  we  must 
look  on  and  pretend  we  are  pleased.  Ah, 
misericordia !  If  it  had  been  one  of  us! 
But  — "  and  the  count  gave  a  shrug  of  his 
shoulders,  and  the  Frenchman  gave  a  shrug 
of  his  shoulders,  and  they  both  cast  up  their 
eyes  to  heaven  in  an  expression  that  spoke 
volumes. 

Such  was  the  decree  of  fate;  poor,  re- 
jected suitors!  There  was  no  accounting  for 
tastes.  Yet  what  could  they  do  but  accept  it, 
and  look  about  for  suitable  wedding-gifts 
when  they  reached  Paris,  for  they  were  both 
indebted  to  the  Wiltons,  and  must  show  their 
appreciation  even  if  their  future  happiness 
was  ruined,  and  their  lives  henceforward 
made  dark  by  the  marriage  of  Miss  Gladys 
Wilton  to  ce  Monsieur  George  Van  Cort- 
land. 

The  Englishman  confided  his  feelings 
to  no  one,  but  Mrs.  Wilton  observed  that  he 
did  feel  something,  deep  down  in  his  heart; 
and  his  wedding-present,  a  superb  necklace, 
was,  perhaps,  handsomer  than  the  occasion 
might  have  been  supposed  to  warrant. 

Thus  the  party  settled  themselves  in  the 
Hotel  de  la  Foret,  and  proceeded  to  make 

391 


Among  French  Inns 

daily  excursions  through  the  forest,  to  the 
Chateau  de  Fontainebleau,  and  to  many 
places  of  interest  in  its  environs.  There  are 
few  spots  more  happily  situated  than  Barbi- 
zon  for  such  little  journeys;  and  were  we  to 
chronicle  all  the  doings  of  this  agreeable 
party,  we  should  be  writing  till  doomsday, 
and,  we  fear,  wearing  out  our  readers' 
patience.  We  can  only  follow  them  to  a 
few  of  the  more  favoured  spots,  and  bid 
them  godspeed  on  their  way  to  Paris  and 
America,  and  to  that  famous  wedding  which 
was  to  startle  all  New  York  —  and  the  rest 
of  the  world  into  the  bargain  —  in  Novem- 
ber. 

The  ride  to  the  Chateau  de  Fontainebleau, 
through  the  forest,  is  one  of  those  enchanted 
experiences  with  which  France  delights  to 
surprise  her  visitors. 

This  is  the  land  of  Corot  and  Millet,  the 
modern  French  painters  who  touched  their 
canvases  with  a  subtle  art  that  nothing  has 
approached  in  the  treatment  of  these  wood- 
land scenes.  Their  creative  genius  has  por- 
trayed this  stretch  of  country  m  all  its  rural 
beauty. 

The  Chateau  de  Fontainebleau  is  one  of 
the   most  magnificent,   the   most   famous   of 

392 


At  the  Hotel  de  la  Foret 

France.  With  Versailles,  with  Chantilly, 
with  Marly,  it  ranks  among  the  most  beauti- 
ful and  extensive  of  the  great  royal  domains, 
that  are  to-day  filled  with  treasures,  relig- 
iously preserved  by  the  state,  and  showing  all 
the  glory  of  the  ancient  monarchy  of  France. 
The  richness  of  the  Renaissance,  as  encour- 
aged by  Francois  I.;  the  magnificence  of 
the  Louis',  as  portrayed  in  the  beautiful 
sequence  of  styles,  of  Louis  XIV.,  Louis 
XV.,  and  Louis  XVL;  the  Empire  brought 
by  Napoleon,  are  all  represented  in  this 
wonderful  ensemble,  which  is  one  of  the 
glories  of  France. 

We  arrived  at  the  Hotel  de  France  et 
d'Angleterre,  opposite  the  chateau,  its  noble 
proportions  rising  in  symmetrical  richness 
before  us.  The  square  towers,  the  pilasters, 
the  cornices,  the  pointed  roofs,  so  universal 
in  France  until  Mansard  cut  them  short  in 
his  innovation  of  style  (more  suitable  to 
dependances  than  to  central  buildings),  are 
almost  suggestive  of  the  Louvre;  but  the 
eflfect  is  lighter  and  more  in  keeping  with 
the  country. 

The  chateau  has  five  courts,  of  which  the 
largest  is  the  Cour  du  Cheval-Blanchc, 
named  from  a  copy  of  the  horse  of  Marcus 

393 


Among  French  Inns 

Aurelius  brought  from  Rome.  Later  its 
name  was  changed  to  that  of  the  Cour  des 
Adieux,  for  it  was  here  that  Napoleon  bade 
his  impressive  farewell  to  the  famous  Vieille 
Garde  on  his  departure  for  the  island  of 
Elba.  It  must  have  been  an  impressive 
scene,  when  the  great  soldier,  the  conqueror 
of  nations  and  creator  of  kingdoms,  left  his 
favourite  guard,  who  had  followed  him 
through  his  campaigns  and  conquests,  to 
became  a  prisoner  of  the  powers  who  had 
at  last  checked  his  career. 

But  if  the  memories  of  Napoleon  cluster 
around  the  Cour  des  Adieux,  what  shall  we 
say  of  the  associations  that  are  linked  with 
the  pavilions  of  the  Chateau  de  Fontaine- 
bleau,  with  its  buildings  and  its  history? 
As  early  as  the  twelfth  century  Louis  le 
Jeune,  King  of  France,  lived  here.  After 
him,  many  other  kings  used  it  as  a  residence. 
Several  of  them  were  born  and  died  there, 
and  from  it  were  dated  acts  and  incidents 
of  their  lives  that  have  contributed  to  his- 
tory. 

After  the  death  of  Philippe  V.  came  Fran- 
cois I.,  bringing  with  him  all  the  rich  glory 
of  the  Renaissance.  This  was  a  period  of 
greatness  for  Fontainebleau  which  has  never 

394 


At  the  Hotel  de  la  Foret 

been  surpassed,  and  from  it  date  the  archi- 
tectural and  artistic  beauties  of  the  chateau. 
The  fetes  which  were  given  by  Frangois  I. 
were  presided  over  by  his  mistress,  La  Du- 
chesse  d'Etampes,  than  whom,  we  are  told  by 
historians,  there  was  no  one  more  brilliant  or 
learned.  If  the  fetes  of  Catherine  de 
Medicis  in  Touraine  were  magnificent, 
those  of  Frangois  I.  at  Fontainebleau  were 
equally  so,  and  his  residence  there  has  been 
rightly  called  the  golden  age  of  the  chateau. 
Succeeding  this  reign  was  that  of  Henry 
II.,  who  brought  with  him  Diane  de  Poitiers, 
the  beautiful  mistress  who  has  figured  so 
conspicuously  in  French  history,  and  whose 
emblems  and  monogram  are  carved  with 
that  of  the  king  upon  the  walls  of  the  cha- 
teau. Indeed,  the  history  of  Fontainebleau 
is,  in  a  way,  written  upon  its  walls.  Each 
sovereign  has  added  his  distinctive  character 
of  decoration,  and  impressed  his  personality 
upon  the  wonderful  apartments  of  the  inte- 
rior. These  noble  apartments  show  the  early 
traces  of  the  decorations  of  the  Renaissance 
in  their  gilding  and  pilasters  upon  the 
walls,  as  well  as  by  the  heavy  beams  of  the 
ceilings.  Upon  this  has  been  grafted,  in  an 
artistic    manner,    the    rococo    and    circular 

395 


Among  French  Inns 

forms  of  the  style  of  Louis  XIV.,  concep- 
tions well  suited  to  the  character  of  so  grand 
a  monarch.  Here  and  there,  in  the  same 
apartment  often,  we  find  interwoven  with 
these,  portions  of  Louis  XV.  and  Louis  XVL 
decorations  as  well  as  furniture. 

It  was  the  ambition  of  Frangois  I.  to 
make  of  Fontainebleau  one  of  the  glories  of 
the  world.  Here  he  succeeded  better  than  at 
his  other  hunting  chateau  of  Chambord, 
in  Touraine.  Artists  from  Italy  embellished 
its  walls  and  ceilings.  II  Rosso,  the  pupil  of 
Michelangelo,  came  first;  later  he  was  sup- 
planted by  Primaticcio,  and  ended  by  taking 
poison  in  1541,  overcome  by  the  fury  of  his 
jealous  disposition.  None  of  his  frescoes 
have  survived  the  hand  of  "  Le  Primatice," 
as  Primaticcio  was  called  in  France. 

In  those  days  the  Italian  influence  was 
everywhere  at  Fontainebleau,  as  well  as  in 
Touraine.  Under  Frangois  II.,  who  suc- 
ceeded Henry  II.,  Catherine  de  Medicis 
held  sway,  and  here  took  place  the  famous 
reception  of  the  embassy  of  the  Catholic 
monarchs,  that  came  to  demand  the  carrying 
out  of  the  articles  of  the  Council  of  Trent. 
Around  the  queen  were  grouped  more  than 
a  hundred  beautiful  maids  of  honour,  mak- 

396 


At  the  Hotel  de  la  Foret 

ing  the  scene  a  glory  of  loveliness,  as  well 
as  a  national  occasion. 

Were  we  to  write  the  history  of  Fontaine- 
bleau,  we  should  fill  a  bulky  volume  with 
the  incidents  that  have  been  witnessed  by 
its  ornamented  walls.  We  are  only  visiting 
it  in  passing,  and  must,  perforce,  abstain 
from  much  that  would  be  interesting  to 
mention.  Louis  XIII.  was  born  in  the  cha- 
teau, but  did  not  often  occupy  it  in  his 
reign.  But  Henry  IV.,  who  preceded 
Louis  XIII.,  did  much  to  beautify  it,  and 
the  remains  of  his  work  still  appear. 

Louis  XIV.  came  every  year  for  a  periodic 
residence,  and  dragged  hither  his  unwilling 
family  and  court.  We  cannot  greatly  sympa- 
thize with  those  who  were  not  anxious  to 
accompany  the  king,  for  there  were  worse 
places  in  France  in  those  days  than  the  fair 
proportions  of  Fontainebleau,  with  its  gar- 
dens and  its  matchless  forest. 

Neither  the  Englishman  nor  Count  Romeo 
had  ever  visited  this  remarkable  palace  be- 
fore, and  they  were  both  absorbed,  in  going 
through  it  and  observing  everything  to  be 
seen. 

"  I  like  the  Italian  influence,"  said  the 
count.     "  He  is  always  full  of  colour.     Ah, 

397 


Among  French  Inns 

we  knew  how  to  paint  la  has!''  And  he 
pointed  southward  to  Italy. 

"  You  have  led  the  world  in  art,"  said 
the  Englishman,  thoughtfully.  "  And  you 
have  served  as  a  model  for  architecture  also. 
Most  of  our  ducal  homes,  as  well  as  a  num- 
ber of  the  greater  houses  in  London,  are 
taken  directly  from  Italian  palaces  or  villas." 

"  We  must  go  to  Italy  on  our  wedding- 
tour,  George,"  said  Gladys,  "  and  then  we 
will  visit  Count  di  Pomponi,  and  he  shall 
show  us  some  of  his  wonderful  things." 

"  Ah,  that  would  be  the  next  best  thing 
to  having  you  as  la  contessa''  exclaimed  the 
exuberant  Romeo;  and  every  one  laughed, 
including  George  Van  Cortland  himself. 
He  could  afford  to  be  generous  to  the  re- 
jected suitors,  having  won  such  a  prize. 

During  the  visit  to  Fontainebleau  Miss 
Mary  Van  Cortland  had  seemed  more  and 
more  fascinating  to  the  historian  of  'this 
pilgrimage.  In  fact,  there  began  to  be  no 
doubt  —  or  at  least  very  little  —  in  his  mind 
that  they  were  mutually  agreeable  to  one 
another.  But  there  —  if  we  allow  ourselves 
to  go  on,  we  shall  be  telling  the  secret  to 
all  the  world;  and  when  all  the  world  knows 
a  thing  it  is  no  longer  a  secret,  and  this  little 

398 


At  the  Hotel  de  la  Foret 

confidence    is   a   secret,    for    the    present   at 
least. 

As  we  wandered  through  the  Napoleonic 
rooms,  the  Frenchman  dilated  upon  the 
beauty  of  the  Empire  furniture,  which 
serves  as  an  example  to  copyists  of  this  style 
the  world  over.  The  Louis  XV.  and  Louis 
XVL  furnitures  of  Fontainebleau  are 
equally  if  not  more  beautiful  in  grace  and 
contour.  They  are  some  of  the  best  ex- 
amples of  French  furniture  in  existence,  and 
well  deserve  the  fame  which  they  have  won. 

As  we  stood  in  the  bedroom  of  Napo- 
leon L,  which  contains  his  bed  as  well  as  the 
cradle  of  the  King  of  Rome,  the  Frenchman 
told  the  story  of  the  emperor's  attempt  at 
suicide  in  1814,  at  Fontainebleau.  It  was 
the  custom  of  Napoleon  to  carry  with  him 
a  phial  of  poison,  to  be  used  at  a  moment's 
notice,  if  need  be.  Feeling  that  the  time 
had  arrived,  he  took  the  poison ;  but  it  being 
old,  its  properties  had  lost  their  deadly 
power,  and,  instead  of  their  expected  effect, 
they  made  him  violently  sick.  We  may 
imagine  the  annoyance  of  the  great  hero, 
when  awaiting  his  end  in  epic  grandeur,  to 
find  himself  foiled  in  his  intention,  and,  in 
a  short  time,  as  much  alive  as  ever. 

399 


Among  French  Inns 

The  Cabinet  de  TAbdication,  the  room 
where  he  finally  renounced  his  power,  is  an 
impressive  apartment,  pregnant  with  memo- 
ries and  associations  of  the  Empire.  The 
Salon  du  Conseil  is  decorated  by  Bouchier, 
and  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  rooms  of 
the  chateau.  It  was  used  by  Louis  Philippe 
when  he  resided  there.  Beyond  it  is  the 
throne-room,  which  contains  a  splendid  por- 
trait of  Louis  XIIL,  by  Philippe  de  Cham- 
paigne,  in  his  best  style.  It  was  originally 
used  as  the  bedroom  of  the  Bourbons,  and 
dates  from  the  reign  of  Charles  IX. 

Leading  from  this  apartment  is  the  ex- 
quisite Boudoir  de  Marie  Antoinette,  deco- 
rated by  Barthelemy.  All  the  rooms  asso- 
ciated with  Marie  Antoinette  are  of  great 
beauty,  and  characterized  by  that  delicacy  of 
taste  which  was  so  a  part  of  all  her  surround- 
ings. The  Chambre  a  Coucher  de  la  Reine, 
the  Salon  de  Musique,  and  other  rooms,  are 
included  among  these  apartments. 

What  wonders  there  are  in  these  suites  of 
royal  chambers,  following  one  another  in 
bewildering  succession,  and  filled  with  all 
the  memories  and  traditions  of  France! 
From  the  Grands  Appartements  and  the 
Salon    des    Tapisseries,    to    the    Galerie    de 

400 


At  the  Hotel  de  la  Foret 

Diane,  all  the  periods  of  the  French  kings 
are  represented  in  a  superb  memorial  to 
their  taste  and  power.  We  might  spend 
days,  even  weeks,  in  their  study,  and  still 
find  much  that  had  escaped  our  attention. 

Without  are  the  gardens,  the  fountains, 
the  terraces,  and  the  magnificent  staircase, 
with  ornamental  balustrades,  winding  down 
from  the  first  story  to  the  ground,  in  the 
centre  of  the  chateau,  in  graceful  curves. 
The  Chapelle  de  la  St.  Trinite,  built  under 
Frangois  I.,  and  embellished  with  paintings 
by  Freminet,  under  Henry  IV.,  has  witnessed 
the  marriage  of  Louis  XV.  to  Marie  Le- 
czinska,  and  other  royal  marriages. 

The  gardens  and  parterre,  as  arranged  by 
Lenotre,  remain  as  they  were  at  the  time  of 
Louis  XIV.  The  parterre  is  a  beautiful 
example  of  this  form  of  French  garden,  like 
a  carpet  of  flowers  in  formal  arrangement. 
The  Jardin  Anglais,  after  the  manner  of  that 
at  Versailles,  is  a  delightful  contrast,  and 
it  is  a  pleasure  to  loiter  there  during  the 
warmer  hours  of  the  day. 

We  lingered  over  the  basin  in  which  are 
the  famous  carp,  the  descendants  of  those 
placed  there  by  Le  Grand  Monarquc.  Count 
Romeo,    who    was    fond    of    those    animals 

401 


Among  French  Inns 

which  inhabit  the  waters  under  the  earth, 
as  well  as  those  upon  the  earth  itself,  was 
soon  engaged  in  feeding  the  fish.  They 
could  be  seen  beneath  the  surface  of  the 
water,  eagerly  rising  for  the-  pieces  of  bread 
which  his  Excellency  threw  to  them.  The 
pastime  is  one  often  indulged  in  by  visitors 
to  Fontainebleau. 

This  brings  us  to  the  origin  of  the  name 
itself,  which  is  said  to  come  from  the  Fon- 
taine Bleau,  which  stood  in  the  centre  of 
the  Jardin  Anglais.  It  is  a  pleasing  idea, 
and  one  which  we  are  inclined  to  believe. 

"  Let  us  go  and  take  dejeuner  at  the  Hotel 
de  France  et  d'Angleterre,"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
ton. "  It  is  so  good,  we  might  almost  have 
stayed  there,  except  that  Barbizon  is  more 
rural,  and  you  know  we  are  determined  to 
be  rural  this  summer,  aren't  we,  count? " 
she  added,  with  a  laugh.  Mrs.  Wilton 
looked  anything  but  rural,  or  in  keeping 
with  the  artist  life  of  Barbizon,  with  its 
colony  of  painters  and  its  simplicity;  but  the 
count  agreed,  and  we  repaired  to  the  hotel. 

After  dejeuner  Mrs.  Wilton  insisted  upon 
having  a  table  outside,  and  playing  bridge- 
whist  under  the  shade  of  a  tree,  with  cham- 
pagne served  during  the  game.     The  count 

402 


At  the  Hotel  de  la  Foret 

was  **  hien  gail*  as  he  expressed  it,  and  of 
course  lost  his  game;  but  that  mattered  little, 
since  he  was  to  become  a  millionaire,  as  the 
result  of  the  spaghetti.  The  people  of  the 
hotel  were  in  a  state  of  commotion  over 
the  Wiltons  and  their  party.  But  when  they 
found  that  it  was  ce  riche  Monsieur  et 
Madame  Wilton  d'Amerique,  they  were 
in  a  still  greater  commotion,  and  we  de- 
parted in  a  cloud  of  dust,  mingled  with  the 
glory  which  accompanies  American  dollars, 
after  a  delightful  day  at  Fontainebleau. 

The  ride  through  the  forest,  on  our  way 
back  to  Barbizon,  was  full  of  beauty,  and 
the  association  of  the  artists,  to  whom  it  is 
practically  given  over  in  summer.  The  lives 
of  Corot  and  Millet  seem  linked  with  this 
spot;  and  real  pictures,  which  must  have 
inspired  them  in  life,  appeared  to  us  as  we 
sped  homeward  at  sunset,  through  the  long 
alleys,  in  which  the  Kings  of  France  used  for 
centuries  to  hunt. 

Posts  indicate  the  way  to  those  who  are 
not  familiar  with  the  forest.  They  were 
placed  there  by  Napoleon  III.  Following 
one  of  them,  we  came  to  the  Rochers 
d'Avon,  which  are  lovely  to  behold,  and 
retain   the   visitor   in   the   embrace   of   their 

403 


Among  French  Inns 

enchantment.  La  Mare  de  Franchard  is 
another  beautiful  and  artistic  spot,  as  well  as 
the  Vallee  de  la  Salle  and  the  Fontaines 
Sanguinede  et  du  Mont  Chauvet.  These 
excursions  may  be  made  with  ease,  and  are 
sure  to  be  a  pleasure  to  any  one  in  summer. 

At  last  we  returned  to  the  charming 
Hotel  de  la  Foret  at  Barbizon.  Its  situation 
is  delightful,  between  the  forest  and  the 
Seine,  upon  which  this  little  artist  colony 
is  situated.  Here  and  there  little  farms 
and  houses  are  dotted  about,  with  miniature 
gardens  and  quaint  bits  of  colour  that  are 
dear  to  the  artistic  eye.  Many  are  the  hopes 
and  ambitions  of  budding  geniuses,  of  lesser 
lights,  of  those  even  who  strive  and  fail, 
who  live  and  work  at  Barbizon.  Many  are 
the  anecdotes  and  stories  told  of  the  great 
masters  who  have  dwelt  and  toiled  for  great- 
ness in  this  inspiring  haunt. 

We  lingered  several  days  at  the  hotel, 
whose  artistic  surrounding  and  quaint  charm 
added  much  to  our  enjoyment  of  its  hos- 
pitality. One  day  an  excursion  was  made 
to  the  beautiful  Chateau  de  Vaux-Praslin, 
near  Melun,  which  was  built  by  the  famous 
Fouquet,  in  the  days  of  Cardinal  Mazarin 
and   La   Fronde.      Its   decorations,   by   Mi- 

404 


At  the  Hotel  de  la  Foret 

gnard  and  Charles  Lebrun,  are  superb,  and 
its  gardens  by  Lenotre  most  beautiful. 

At  last  the  time  came  to  leave  our  pleasant 
quarters  and  go  to  Versailles,  where,  at  the 
Hotel  des  Reservoires,  was  to  take  place 
the  meeting  of  the  Van  Cortland  and  Wil- 
ton families.  And  here  we  fear  that  we 
must  draw  the  curtain  upon  the  scene;  for 
our  pilgrimage  is  at  an  end,  and  the  summer 
is  fast  turning  into  autumn. 

The  Englishman  must  return  to  Scotland 
for  the  shooting  season.  The  Frenchman 
leaves  us  for  a  visit  to  his  family  at  a  cha- 
teau in  Seine  et  Oise.  The  count  must  turn 
his  steps  to  his  villa  upon  the  Lake  of  Como, 
there  to  dream,  in  the  shadows  of  his  moun- 
tain scenes,  of  what  might  have  been,  if 
only  his  love  had  been  reciprocated.  We 
part,  dear  friends,  with  deep  regret,  and 
may  we  meet  again. 

And  find  in  rural  France  a  joy  that  comes 

To  those  who  linger  near  fair  Nature's  homes. 

Seek  something  hidden  'neath  its  sun-kissed  soil, 

Nor  think  again  of  sorrow,  care,  and  toil. 

Lead  us,  fair  land,  to  these  thy  treasured  haunts. 

That  bless  thy  name  —  the  magic  name  of  France  ! 

THE  END.         ' 
405 


INDEX 


Abbaye  aux  Dames   (Caen), 

334. 
Abbaye  aux  Hommes  (Caen), 

334. 
Abbaye  de  Bon-Port,  218,  219. 
Abbaye  de  Fontaine-Guerard, 

Pare  de  Radepont,  210. 
Abbaye     de     Marmoutiers 

(Lamballe),  189. 
Abbaye      de      Miortemer 

(Lisors),  210. 
Abbaye  du  Bee,  238. 
Abbaye  of  Graville,  43. 
Abbeys  (See  under  individual 

names). 
Abdalla  of  Spain,  314. 
Agrippa,   278,   384. 
Aix,  323,  348,  380,  386,  387; 

C  o  u  r  s      Mirabeau,     387 ; 

Hotel    de    Ville,    387;     St. 

Jean  de  Malte  Church,  387 ; 

Hotel     Negre-Coste,     387 ; 

Tour  de  I'Horloge,  387. 
Alengon,   294,   295,   296,   299, 

301,  303;    Hotel  du  Grand 

Cerf,    294;      Notre    Dame 

Church,  296. 
Allouville,  no. 
Almeneches,  307. 
Ancourt,  229. 

Angers,  340;    Cathedral,  342. 
"  Anti-Lucrece,"    220. 
Arch  of  Augustus  (Orange), 

381. 


Archelles  (Le  Petit  Arques), 
229. 

Argentan,  275,  308,  310,  312, 
313,  314;  Chateau  of,  311; 
Hotel  des  Trois  Margue- 
rites, 309,  310,  311;  St. 
Germain  Church,  310,  313, 
315;  Tour  Marguerite,  311. 

Aries,  374,  384,  386 ;  Hotel  du 
Nord,  386. 

Arlette,  317,  318. 

Arthur,  Prince,  207. 

Artois  family,  227. 

"Athalie,"  282. 

Aubert,  Abbey  of  (See  Mont 
St.  Michael). 

Aubry,  Chateau,  311. 

Augustus,  52. 

Aumont  family,  72. 

Auteuil,  260,  261. 

Avignon,  374,  379,  380,  383, 
384,  385;  Hotel  de  I'Europe, 

383. 
Avranches,  172,  173,  174,  176, 

177;      Hotel     d'Angleterre, 

176. 
Azay-le-Rideau,     353,      359 ; 

Chateau,    354;      Hotel     du 

Grand  Monarque,  353. 

Balcinac,  121. 

Balzac,  353. 

Barbizon,   389,   392,  403,  404 

Barthelemy,  4CXX 


407 


Index 


Bayeux,  85,  334;  Chateau  de 
Creuilly,  334;  Hotel  de 
Luxembourg,  334. 

Beaucaire,  Castle  of,  386. 

Beaulieu,  363,  364. 

Beaumesnil,  Chateau  of,  236, 
'^ZTy  238;    Seigneur  of,  237. 

Beaumont-lesRoger,  236,  22,y. 

Bechard,  Ferdinand,  385. 

Beffroi  d'Evreux,  234. 

Berenger,  108. 

Bernay,  172,  236,  239. 

Bethencourt   family,  72. 

Blosset,  303. 

Bois   de   Boulogne,   260,  261. 

Bolbec,  69,  71 ;  Family,  90. 

Bonheur,  Rosa,  201. 

Bonneville-sur-Touques,     241. 

Borgia,  Caesar,  378. 

Bouchier,  400. 

Boulevard  Pyramide  (Lyons), 

Bourgogne  family,  227. 
Bourre,  Jean,  355. 
Breaute,  ^2.\    Sires  de,  72. 
Brest,  192. 
Breteuil,  236. 
Breze  family,  ^2. 
Brionne,  236,  238. 
Brotonne,  117. 
Broussais,   183. 
Brummel,  Beau,  333. 
Buckingham  family,  70. 

Caen,  168,  172,  239,  333,  334; 

Abbaye    aux    Dames,    334; 

Abbaye  aux  Hommes,  334; 

Hotel  d'Angleterre,  84. 
Caesar,  Julius,  52. 
Caino,  350. 
Calet      (or     Caletum),     See 

Lillebonne. 
Calvados,  312,  324,  333,  335. 
Cannes,  380. 

Canterbury     Cathedral,     213. 
Cap-Faguet,  94. 
Caree   Tower    (Tancarville), 

64. 


Carnac,  193 

Carrouges,     301,     302,     303; 

Chateau  of,  301. 
Carthusian  Monks,  377. 
Cascade  de  Couz,  376. 
Castel  du  Repas,  311. 
Castellane,    Marquis,   354. 
Caudebec,   97,    117,    119,    121, 

122,  123,  129,  137,  140,  143, 

164;     Hotel   de   la    Marine, 

118,   124,   125;    L'figlise  du 

Caudebec,  130. 
Caux  River,  117. 
Cavares,  381. 
Chambery,    375,    378;     Hotel 

d'Angleterre,^  375. 
Chambois,    Chateau   of,  311. 
Chambord,    Chateau    of,   396. 
Chantilly,  259,  393- 
Chapelle  de  la  Trinite  (Fon- 

tainebleau),  401. 
Chapelle  de  la  Vierge   (Val- 

mont),    103. 
Charlemagne,    Emperor,    381. 
Charles  L   (Le  Chauve),  121, 

218,  219,  364. 
Charles  H.,  350. 
Charles  IV.,  9. 
Charles  V.,  100. 
Charles     VHL     (Le     Teme- 

raire),   123,  351. 
Charles    IX.,   400. 
Charles  le  Mauvais,  220. 
Chartres,  275,   279,   285,   286; 

289,    290,    294,     295,    297; 

Hotel    de    Ville,    291 ;    293, 

299 ;  Hotel  Due  de  Chartres, 

286,  289. 
Chateaubriand,  182,   183,  184, 

201 ;   Frangois  Rene  de,  186. 
Chateau   de   Rochecotte,   351, 

354. 

Chateaulin,  193. 

Chateauroux,  371. 

Chateaux  {See  under  indi- 
vidual names). 

Chemin  de  la  Croix  (Loches), 
366. 


408 


Index 


"Chene   d'AllouviUe,"   no. 

Chenonceaux,  351,  353,  354, 
356,  358. 

Cherbourg,   239. 

Chinon,  347,  350,  353;  Cha- 
teau, 351-352,  354,  357; 
Chateau  de  Coudray,  351 ; 
Chateau  de  Milieu,  351 ; 
Chateau  de  St.  Georges, 
351;  Grand-Log  is,  351; 
Hotel  de  France,  353; 
Hotel  de  la  Boule  d'Or, 
350;  Pavilion  de  I'Horloge, 
351 ;    Tour  de   St.   Martin, 

351- 
Churches     {See    under    indi- 
vidual names). 
Claude,  Mons.,  175,  204. 
Clerai,  Chateau  of,  308. 
Cleres,  Chateau  of,  197. 
Clovis,  King,  205,  350. 
Coetirec,  192. 
Colbert,  9. 
Combourg,  185,  186;   Chateau 

de,  185,   186. 
Compiegne,  259. 
Conches,  236. 
Condate  {See  Conde). 
Conde,  Prince,  236,  237. 
Connetable,   100. 
Conti,    Prince,  9. 
Coquesart     Tower     (Tancar- 

ville),  64. 
Corde-sur-Iton,       Chateau 

(Evreux),  235. 
Comeille,  201. 
Corot,  392,  403. 
Cottereau,  Jean,  279. 
Council  of  Trent,  396. 
Cour  de  la  Republique,  34. 
Cour  des  Adieux   (Fontaine- 

bleau),  394. 
Cour    du    Cheval-B  1  a  n  c  h  e 

(Fontainebleau),  393. 
Cours      Mirabeau      (Aix), 

387. 
Courtray,  74. 
Coutances,    172,    173;     Hotel 


d'Angleterre,     172 ;      Notre 
Dame  Cathedral,   173. 

"  Convent  des  Capucins,"  131. 

Crequi  family,  72. 

Dampierre,  343 ;  Chateau 
Morains,  342. 

Deauville,  241. 

D'Alengon,   Due,  365. 

D'Angouleme,     Isabelle,    347. 

D'Anjou,  Comte,  354;  Due, 
9;    Marguerite,  46,   342. 

D'ArbrissoI,  Robert,  345. 

D'Arc,  Jeanne,  136,  141,  351. 

D'Arques,  Comte,  229;  Cha- 
teau, 228,  229. 

D'Aubigne,     Frangoise,     280. 

D'Audiffret-Pasquier,  Due, 
308. 

De  Balue,  Cardinal,  361,  366. 

De  Baviere,  Isabeau,  304. 

De  Blois,  Chateau,  281. 

De   Bourbon,   Antoine,  201. 

De     Bourbon,     Charles,     100, 

lOI. 

De  Bourbon-Soissons,  Louise, 

65- 
De  Champaigne,  Philippe,  400. 
De  Choiseul,  Due,  14. 
De  Cleves,  Catherine,  228. 
De  Comines,   Philippe,  352. 
De   Creuilly,    Chateau,  334. 
D'Estouteville,   Sire,  46. 
D'fitampes,  Duchesse,  395. 
D'Etelan,  Chateau,  62,  65,  dy. 
D'Eu,     Chateau,     226,     228; 

Comte,  227. 
D'Evreux,  Comte,  65. 
De  Guyenne,  Eleanor,  46,  346. 
D'Harcourt,      Chateau,      236, 

238;     Due,  9;    Family,   58, 

D'Hebertot,  Chateau,  258. 

De  I'Arc,  Chateau  (Orange), 
381. 

De  la  Duche  (Uzes),  385. 

De  la  Foret-d'Auvray,  Cha- 
teau, 311. 


409 


Index 


De  la  Garaye,  Chateau   (Di- 

nan),  i88. 
De  la  Saucerie,  Chateau,  311. 
De      la      Tour      d'Auvergne 

family,  58;    Louis,  65. 
De   la   Trinite   Church    (Fa- 

laise),  318. 
De  la  Veve,  Chateau,  294. 
De     Lassay,     Chateau,     258; 

Marquis,  258. 
De    Luynes,    Charles    Albert, 

361 ;    Due,  385. 
De  Maille,  Comte,  361. 
De  Maine,  Duchesse,  228. 
De     Maintenon,    Mme.,    280, 

281. 
De  Medicis,  Catherine,  9,  14, 

74,    358,    395,    396;     Marie, 

303. 
De  Montespan,  Mme.,  346. 
De      Montmorencies,      The, 

58. 
De  Montpensier,  Lx>uise   (La 

Grande  Mademoiselle),  228, 

258. 
De  Noailles,  Due,  281. 
D'O,  Chateau,  303,  304. 
D'Orleans,  Jean,  65. 
De  Paris,  Comtesse,  227. 
De  Parme,  Prince,  123. 
De  Poitiers,  Diane,  369,  378, 

395;    Maison,  150. 
De    Polignac,    Cardinal,    220. 
De    St.     Paul,    Comte     {See 

Charlfes  de  Bourbon). 
De  Talhoiiet,    Marquis,  339. 
De  Thevray,   Chateau,  236. 
De  Valentinois,  Comte,  378. 
De  Villars,  Due,  14. 
De  Villernay,  Marquis,  280. 
Dieppe,    211,    226,    228,    229, 

233 ;   Chateau  d'Arques,  228, 

229;     Chateau     d'Eu,    226, 

228;    Hotel  Royal,  232. 
Digne,  380,  388. 
Dinan,    186,    187,    188;     Cha- 
teau   de    la    Garaye,     188; 

Hotel      d'Angleterre,      186, 


187;    St.   Sauveur  Church, 

188. 
Dinard,  181. 
Dives,  184,  324,  .325,  333,  335, 

336,    342;     Hotel    de   Guil- 

laume   le    Conquerant,   266, 

271,  273,  324,  327,  330,  336. 
Dol,    184,    186;    Hotel    de    la 

Grande  Maison,  185. 
Domfront,  311. 
Dreux,    275,    276,    278,    279; 

Hotel       de       Ville,      279; 

Hotel  du  Paradis,  276,  278. 
Duguesclin,  100,   188,  314. 
Dumontel,    Jacques     Gautier, 

313,  314. 
Duval,  201 ;    Marie  Catherine, 
201  •    Nicolas,  200. 

fichiquier  de  Normandie,  158. 
ficole     de     Cavaliere     (Sau- 

mur),  341. 
Edict  of  Nantes,  70,  341. 
Edward  the  Conqueror,  46. 
Elbeuf,  172. 
English  Channel,  i,  2,  3,  13, 

17,  34,  38,  47,  65,  n,  174- 
Epemon,  285. 
"  Esther,"  282. 
Estouteville,     Adrienne,     100, 

103;    Family,  72,  lOO. 
fittetat,  27,  28,  32,  39,  71,  75, 

78,  80;    Hotel  Blanquet,  75, 

76. 
Eure  River,  211,  279,  282. 
Evreux,  233,  234,  235;,  Bish- 
ops   of,    235 ;     Chateau 

Conde-sur-Iton,  235. 
Exmes,  311. 

Falaise,  312,  313,  316,  319,  320, 
323;  De  la  Trinite  Church, 
318;  Foire  de  Gibraye,  319, 
320;  Hotel  de  Normandie, 
317;  Place  de  la  Trinite, 
318. 

Fauville,  99,  107. 

Fecamp,   80,   82,   90,   92,   94, 


410 


Index 


97,  99,  icx),  119,  164,  214; 
Abbey  of,  85,  90;  Fon- 
taine du  Precieux-Sang, 
94;  Hotel  Canchv,  80; 
Hotel  Chariot  d'O'r,  80; 
Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf,  81 ; 
La  Retenue,  93;  Notre 
Dame  de  Salut,  94;  St. 
Trinite,  86. 

Fel,  311. 

*'  Fenetre  de  la  Reine  Ma- 
thilde,"  241. 

Finistere,  192. 

"Foire  de  Gibraye "  (Fa- 
laise),  319,  320. 

Folligny,   173. 

Fontaine  Bleau,  402. 

Fontainebleau,  388,  389;  Cha- 
pelle  de  la  Trinite,  401 ; 
Chateau,  392,  393-402; 
Hotel  de  France  et  d'Angle- 
terre,  393 ;  Cour  d  e  s 
Adieux,  394;  Cour  du 
Cheval-Blanche,  393. 

Fontaine  de  Jeanne  d'Arc 
(Rouen),   150. 

Fon|taine  du  Precieux-Sang 
(Fecamp),  94. 

Fontaine-Henri,  Chateau,  335. 

Fontaines  Sanguinede  et  du 
Mont  (Thauvet,  404, 

Fontevrault,  341,  343,  347; 
Church  of,  345;  Hotel  de 
France,  344;  Tour  d'Ev- 
rault,  374. 

Fougeres,  193. 

Foulques,  354. 

Fouquet,  404. 

Francois  I.,  13,  16,  74,  82, 
100,  loi,  158,  162,  200,  259, 
280,  360,  393,  394,  395,  396, 
401;  Frangois  II.,  184,  396. 

Freminet,  401. 

Gaillard,  (Chateau  (Le  Petit 
Andely),   199,  206,  207. 

Galerie  du  Peinture  (Lyons), 
371- 


Geoffroy,  227. 

George  IV.,  334. 

Gerald,  60. 

Gers  River,  2i72>- 

Gisors,  210. 

Godard  family,  72. 

Goderville,  71,  72;   Barons  of, 

Gouffern,  313. 

Grand      CThartreuse      Monas- 
tery, 375,  376,  ZTJ. 
Grand-Logis,  The    (Chinon), 

351- 
Grasse,  388. 
Graville,   28,    39,   43;    Abbey 

of,  43- 
Gray,  Thomas,  204. 
Grenc^ble,  378,  388. 
Guingamp,    190,    191 ;     Hotel 

de  rOuest,  190. 

Hamon,  Vicomte,  187. 
Haras  du  Pin,  308. 
Harfleur,   39,  45,  46,   47,  48, 

50;       Church     of,     47-49; 

Family  74. 
Harold,  187,  241. 
Hastings,  74. 
Havre,     1-31,    32-43,    62,    76, 

140 ;      Hotel     d' Angleterre, 

5;     Hotel   de   I'Europe,    5; 

Hotel    Frascati,    5,    10,   20; 

Notre    Dame    Church,    15; 

Notre     Dame     de      Grace 

Chapel,     13 ;      Place    de 

I'Hotel    de    Ville,    15;     St. 

Francois     Church,     15; 

Tower  of   Francois   I.,    15, 

16. 
Havre  de  Grace  (^See  Havre, 

13). 
Henry  I.,  58,  122,  275. 
Henry  I.  (de  Guise),  228. 
Henry  II.,  46,  275,  347,  350, 

351,  360,  395,  396. 
Henry  III.,  74. 
Henry  IV.,   14,   16,   123,  200, 

397,  401. 


411 


Index 


Henry   V.,   45,   46,    122,   318. 

Henry  VI.,  342. 

Honfleur,  240. 

Hotel  Blanquet  (fitretat), 
75,  76. 

Hotel  Budan  (Saumur),  341. 

Hotel  Canchy   (Fecamp),  80. 

Hotel  Chariot  d'Or  (Fe- 
camp), 80. 

Hotel  Ferdinand  B  e  c  h  a  r  d 
(Uzes),  385. 

Hotel  Frascati  (Havre),  5, 
10,  20. 

Hotel  Lion  d'Or  (Langeais), 
354. 

Hotel   Nau    (Loches),  369. 

Hotel  Negre-Coste,  Aix,  387. 

Hotel  Pascal  (Manosque), 
386. 

Hotel  Poulard  (Mont  St. 
Michel),  177,   178,   181. 

Hotel  Royal  (Dieppe),  232. 

Hotel  St.  Pierre  (Mainte- 
non),  279. 

Hotel  d'Angleterre  (Avran- 
ches),  176;  (Coutances), 
172;  (Caen),  84;  Cham- 
bery,  375;  (Dinan),  186, 
187;  (Havre),  5;  (Rouen), 
164. 

Hotel  de  Bellevue  (Trou- 
yille),  242. 

Hotel  de  France  (Chinon), 
353;  (Fontevrault),  344; 
(Lamballe),  188;  (Lille- 
bonne),  51,  54. 

Hotel  de  France  et  d'Angle- 
terre  (Fontainebleau),  393. 

Hotel  de  Guillaume  le  Con- 
querant  (Dives),  266,  271, 
273,  324,  327,  330,  336. 

Hotel  de  la  Boule  d'Or 
(  A  z  a  y-1  e-Rideau  ) ,  359 ; 
(CHiinon),  350. 

Hotel  de  la  Commerce  (Vai- 
son),  383. 

Hotel  de  la  Croix  Blanche 
(St.  Brieuc),  189. 


Hotel  de  I'Europe  (Avignon), 

383;     (Havre),    5;     (Lan- 

nion),   192;    (Lyons),  371; 

(Morlaix),    191. 
Hotel  de  la  Foret  (Barbizon), 

390,  391,  404- 
Hotel   de   la   Grande   Maison 

(Dol),  185. 
Hotel  de  la  Marine   (Caude- 

bec),  118,  124,  125. 
Hotel      de     I'Ouest      (Guin- 

gamp),  190. 
Hotel      de      la      Promenade, 

(Loches),  365. 
Hotel      de      I'U^ivers      (St. 

Malo),  182;    (Tours),  359, 

371- 
Hotel   de   Luxembourg    (Ba- 

yeux),  334. 
Hotel    de    Normandie     (Fa- 

laise)  317. 
Hotel    de    Paris    (Trouville), 

242. 
Hotel   de   Ville    (Aix),   387; 

(Chartres),   291,   293,   299; 

(Dreux),    279;     (Loches), 

369. 
Hotel  des  Empereurs  (Taras- 

con),  385. 
Hotel  des  Trois  Maries  (Ar- 

gentan),  309,  310,  311. 
Hotel  des  Reservoires   (Ver- 
sailles), 405. 
Hotel     des     Roches     Noires 

(Trouville),  242.  '      ** 

Hotel  des  Victoires  (Yvetot), 

no. 
Hotel      du      Bourgtheroulde 

(Rouen),   150,   161,   164. 
Hotel    Due    de    Chartres 

(Chartres),  286,  289. 
Hotel    du    Commerce    (Val- 

mont),  103. 
Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf  (Alen- 

gon),  294;     (Fecamp),  81; 

(Le    Grand    Andely),    199, 

200,  210,  305;     (Louviers), 

216,  221. 


412 


Index 


Hotel    du    Grand    Monarqiie 

(Azay-le-Rideau),   353. 
Hotel     du     Havre     (Tancar- 

ville),  59. 
Hotel    du    Louvre    et    de    la 

Poste  (Valence),  379. 
Hotel     du     Mouton      (Lou- 

viers),  217. 
Hotel  du  Nord  (Aries),  386; 

(Rouen),    165;      (Vienne), 

373. 
Hotel   du    Paradis    (Dreux), 

276,  278. 
Hotel     du      Viennois      (^See 

Hotel      du      Grand      C)erf, 

Les  Andelys). 
Hugo,  Victor,  201. 
Hundred  Years'  War,  46. 
Hyeres,  380. 

Ingouville,  28. 
I  sere  River,  375. 
I  ton  River,  235. 

Jardin  Anglais,  Fontaine- 
bleau,  401,  402;  Ver- 
sailles, 401. 

John,  King,   180,  220,  347. 

Juliobona    {See    Lillebonne). 

Jumieges,  117. 

Karr,  Alphonse,  36,  'jd. 
Kercado,  Chateau  de,  193. 
Kergrist,    192. 
King  of  Rome,  399. 

La  Bourdonnais,  183. 

Lackland,  John,  107,  219. 

La  Fleche,  339. 

La  Fronde,  9,  60,  404. 

"La  Grande  Be,"   183. 

La  Grande  Trappe  Monas- 
tery, 294. 

La  Haye-Pesnel,  173. 

La  Heve,  34,  ZT- 

Laigle,  275. 

Lamballe,  188,  189,  190; 
Abbaye     de     Marmoutiers, 


189;   Comtede,  189;   Hotel 

de     France,      188;      Notre 

Dame  Church,   189;     Prin- 

cesse   de,    189;    St.   Martin 

Church,  189. 
Lamennais,    184. 
Langeais,  354;    Chateau,  354, 

355,   356,  357;    Lion  d'Or, 

354: 
Lannion,      192;       Hotel      de 

I'Europe,  192. 
La   Poissoniere,  340. 
La  Retenue  (Fecamp),  93, 
La  Sarthe,  270,  339. 
"  La  Tour  Grise,"  275. 
Lauzun,   228. 
L'Aigle    Tower    (Tancar- 

ville),  64. 
L'Aiguille    (Vienne),  373. 
Le  Breton,  William,  207. 
Lebrun,  Charles,  405, 
Leczinska,  Marie,  401. 
Le      Da  in,      Oliver,      355, 

367 
L'Eglise  de  Caudebec,   130. 
Lefevre,   Mon.,  201. 
Lefevre-Desnouettes,       Adm., 

Le    Grand   Andely,    199,   204, 

205,  206,  220,  233;  Hotel 
du  Grand  Cerf,  199,  200, 
210,  305;  Notre  Dame 
Church,  205;  Place  du 
March  e,  204. 

Le  Lude,  Chateau,  339. 
Le  Mans,  285,  337,  339. 
Lenotre,  282. 

Le  Petit  Andely,  199,  205,  206, 
211;    Chateau  Gaillard,  199, 

206,  207. 

Les    Andelys,    196,    197,    199, 

201,  205,  210. 
Les  Arcs,  388. 
Les  Echelles,  2>1^' 
"  Les  Grands  Eaux,"  282, 
Lezard  River,  45. 
Lillebonne,  49,   50,  51,   52-54, 

70;    Abbey  of  Valasse,  54; 


413 


Index 


Hotel  de  France,  51,  54; 
Notre  Dame  Church,  54; 
Place   de  I'Hotel   de  Ville, 

,  52,  54. 

Lisieux,  172,  239,  240. 

Lisors,  Abbaye.  de  Mortemer, 

210. 

Loches,  Hotel  de  la  Prome- 
nade, 365;  Hotel  de  Ville, 
369;  Hotel  Natl,  369;  Le 
Martelet,  367;  Prison  des 
fiveques,  366;  Tour  Ronde, 
366 ;  Tour  St.  Antoine,  368 ; 
Town  of,  364,  368;  Cha- 
teau of,  354,  363,  364,  365, 
367;  Chemin  de  la  Croix, 
366. 

Loir  River,  339. 

Loire  River,  336,  339,  340, 
343,  347,  364. 

Longchamps,  260. 

Longueville,  Prince,  9;  Due, 
65;    Family,  58,  70. 

Lorient,  193. 

Lorraine  family,  227. 

Louis  XL,  123,  180,  280,  303, 
355,  356,  361,  364,  365,  366, 
367. 

Louis  XH.,  13,  123,  158,  281, 
378. 

Louis  XHL,  258,  361,  385, 
397,  400. 

Louis    XIV.,    280,    282,    308, 

^  341,  393,  396,  397,  401. 

Louis  XV.,  16,  346,  351,  393, 
396,  401. 

Louis    XVL,    17,    259,    393, 

,  396. 

Louis  le  Jeune,  394. 

Louis  Philippe,  8,  17,  242, 
400. 

Louviers,  211,  212,  214,  216, 
218;  Hotel  du  Grand  Cerf, 
216,  221 ;  Hotel  du  Mouton, 
217. 

Lusignan  family,  227. 

Luynes,  361,  362,  363;  Cha- 
teau de,  361,  362;    Due  de, 


361;     Charles    Albert    de, 

361. 
Lyons-la-Foret,  210. 
Lyons,    371,    373;     Hotel    de 

I'Europe,   371 ;     Galerie   dc 

Peinture,     371;       Rue     de 

Bellecour,  371, 

Maillerais,  117. 

Maintenon,  279,  282,  283,  285; 

Chateau  of,  280;    Hotel  St. 

Pierre,  279. 
Manoir     d'Ango      (Varenge- 

ville),  231,  232. 
Manoir     de     Meautrix 

(Touques),  241. 
Manosque,    Hotel     Pascal, 

386. 
"  Marais  de  Dol,"  184. 
Mare  de  Franchard,  404. 
Maresdans,  220. 
Marie  Antoinette,   189,  400. 
Marly,  393 ;    Gardens  of,  71, 
Marmoutier,  361. 
Marot,  Comte  Claude,  188. 
Marseilles,    380. 
Martel,  Geoffrey,  350. 
Martelet    (Loches),  367. 
Martin-Eglise,  229. 
Matilda,  Queen,  334. 
Maupertuis,  183. 
M  a  u  r  i  I  e,     Archbishop     of 

Rouen,  150. 
Mayenne,  193, 

Mazarin,  Cardinal,  9,  404.     ' 
Melun,  404. 
Meyrargues,  387. 
Michelangelo,   396. 
Mignard,  281,  404. 
Millet,  392,  403. 
Mons  Tomba  {^See  Mont  St 

Michel). 
Montelimar,  379. 
Monthery,  74, 
Montivilliers,  50. 
MontluQon,  371. 
Montree,  303,  307. 
Mont  Salomon,  373. 


414 


Index 


Mont    St    Michel,    172,    174, 

176,     177,     178,     181,     182; 

Hotel     Poulard,     177,     178, 

181. 
Montsoreau,   Chateau,  343. 
Morains,      Chateau      (Dam- 

pierre),  342. 
Morlaix,      191;      Hotel      de 

I'Europe,  191. 
Mortagne,  294. 
Mozin,  257. 
Musee-Bibliotheque   (Havre), 

15. 

Napoleon  I.,  17,  393,  399, 
Napoleon  HI.,  8,  403. 
Nerra,     Foulques,     354,     363, 

368. 
Neufchatel,  211. 
Neville,     Agnes     de,     72 ; 

Family,  72. 
Nice,  380. 
Nicolas,  86. 
Nimes,  384. 
Nogent,  294. 
Norville,  65,  70. 
Notre  Dame  Cathedral  (Cou- 

tances),  173. 
Notre   Dame   Church    (Alen- 

Qon),     296;      Havre,      15; 

Lamballe,    189 ;     Le   Grand 

Andely,     205 ;      Lillebonne, 

54. 
Notre  Dame  de  Bourg-Bau- 

douin  (Fecamp),  94, 
Notre  Dame  de  Grace,  Chapel 

of    (Havre),    13. 
Notre   Dame   de   Salut    (Fe- 
camp), 94. 
Notre  Dame  des  Flots,  Chapel 

of   (St.  Adresse),  35. 

Orange,  379,  380,  381;    Cha- 
teau de  I'Arc,  381. 
Orleans  family,  227-279. 
Orleans-Longueville      family, 

lOI. 

Ourvillc,  99,  100,  107. 


Palais    de    Justice    (Rouen), 

141,  150,  157,  X58,  159. 
Palgrave,  90. 
Pare    de    Radepont    (Canton. 

de    Fleury-sur-A  n  d  e  1 1  e), 

210. 
Paris,  9,  31,  160,  239,  260,  261, 
.    266,  285,  313,  314,  324. 
Parliament  of  Rouen,  200. 
Pavilion  de  I'Horloge,  351. 
Pays  de  Talon,  229. 
Penthievre,     House    of,     189, 

190,  227. 
Phares  de  la  Heve,  36,  38. 
Philippe  v.,  394. 
Philippe-Auguste,     180,     207, 

350,  364,  365. 
Pigault-Lebrun,  201. 
Place    de    I'Hotel    de     Ville 
(Havre),   15;     (Lillebonne), 

52,  54. 
Place  de  la  Pucelle  (Rouen), 

150. 
Place    de    la    Trinite     (Fa- 

laise),  318. 
Place  du  Marche  (Le  Grand 

Andely),  204. 
Plessis  les  Tours,  361. 
Plouaret,  190,  192. 
Pont  de  I'Arche,  211,  218,  220. 
Pont  du  Gard,  384. 
Pontivy,  193. 
Pont  I'Eveque,  240. 
Poussin,     Nicolas,    201,    204, 

205. 
Pres  en  Pail,  193. 
Primaticcio,  396. 
"Prison     des  fiveques" 

(Loches),  366. 
Putange,  312. 

Quilleboeuf,  62. 
Quimper,  193. 

Rabelais,  352. 
Racine,  282. 
Rambouillet,  285. 
Ranee  River,  187. 


415 


Index 


Raoul,  60. 

Rene,  King,  342. 

Rennes,  186,  193. 

Rhone  River,  371,  372,  373, 
374,  375,  378,  379,  380,  384, 
385,  386. 

Richard  I.,  Duke  of  Nor- 
mandy, 234. 

Richard  II.,  121,  227. 

Richard  III.,  86. 

Richard  (Coeur  de  Lion),  199, 

206,  219,  346,  364,  305. 
Richard,  Duke  of  Normandy, 

.316. 
Richard  Sans  Peur,  85,  90. 
Richelieu,  9. 
Riez,  387. 
Roanne,  371. 
Robert,       Archbishop      of 

Rouen,  234. 
"Robert   le   Diable,"  44,  317. 
Rochecotte,  Chateau  of,  354. 
Rochecourbon,  361. 
Rochers  d'Avon,  403. 
Rognac,  386. 
Rosso,  396. 
Rothomagus,   147. 
Rouen,  9,  46,  62,  dz,  86,  99, 

140-169,   171,   193,   197,  201, 

207,  226,  241,  316,  340; 
Fontaine  de  Jean  d'Arc, 
150;  Hotel  .d'Angleterre, 
164;  Hotel  du  Bourgthe- 
roulde,  150,  161,  164;  Hotel 
du  Nord,  165;  Maison  de 
Diane  de  Poitiers,  150; 
Palais  du  Justice,  141,  150, 
157,  158,  159;  Parliament 
of,  200;  Place  de  la  Pu- 
celle,  150;  Rue  Jeanne 
d'Arc,  157,  159;  St.  Ger- 
vais  Church,  167;  St.  Ma- 
clou  Church,  141,  153;  St. 
Ouen  Church,  141,  152-153; 
Tour  de  Beurre,  151; 
Tour  de  la  Grosse-Hor- 
loge,  150,  159,  161. 

Rousseau,  353. 


Rue    de    Bellecour    (Lyons), 

371. 
Rue  des  Rosiers  (Trouville), 

242, 
Rue  Jeanne  d'Arc   (Rouen), 

157,   159. 
Runfas,  192. 

Sable,  339. 

Sacy,  Chateau  of,  308. 

Sand,  George,  376. 

Sansac,  Chateau  de,  363. 

Saone  River,  371. 

Saumur,    340,    341,   347,    348; 

Hotel  Budan,  341. 
Scott,   Sir   Walter,   201, 
Seine,   13,   17,  45,  46,  57,  61, 

65,   117,   118,  121,   140,   199, 

205,  211,  218,  219,  220,  233. 
Sforza,  Ludovico,  367. 
Sisteron,  388. 
St.    Adresse,    34,    36;     Notre 

Dame  des  Plots,  35. 
St.  Avitien,  149. 
St.    Benezet,    Bridge   of,   384, 
St.  Brieuc,  189,  190 ;   Hotel  de 

la  Croix  Blanche,  189;    St. 

Etienne   Cathedral,    190. 
St.    Bruno,   376;     Chapel    of, 

378. 
St.  Clotilde,  205. 
St.  Cyr,  282. 
St.    Etienne    Cathedral     (St. 

Brieuc),  190. 
St.   Florent,  341. 
St.      Frangois,      Church      of 

(Havre),  15. 
St.    FranQois   de   Paule,   15. 
St.  Gaubourge,  275. 
St.  Germain,  Church  of  (Ar- 

gentan),  310,  313,  315- 
St.  Gertrude,  River  of,  118. 
St.     Gervais,     Church     of 

(Rouen),   167. 
St.    Jean    de    Malte    Church 

(Aix),387. 
St.    Laurent    du    Pont,    375, 

Z1^.  Z77' 


416 


Index 


St.  Lo,  172. 

St.  Maclou  Church  (Rouen), 

141,   153. 
St.  Malo,  181-184,  187;  Hotel 

de  rUnivers,  182. 
St.     Martin     Church     (Lam- 

balle),  189. 
St.     Maurice      Cathedral 

(Vienne),  373. 
St.  Mellon,  149. 
St.    Ouen,    149;     Church    of 

(Rouen),    141,    152-153. 
St.  Ours,  364. 
St.     Sauveur     Church     (Di- 

nan),   188. 
St.  Trinite  (Fecamp),  86, 
St.      Trophime     Theatre 

(Aries),  386. 
St.  Wandrille,  117,  122,  134; 

Abbaye    de,    108,    134,    135, 

137. 
St.  Waninge,  Maison  de  (Fe- 
camp), 93. 
Stonehenge,  Eng.,  193. 

Talbot,  Gen.,  122,  318. 
Talleyrand,    354. 
Tancarville,    57-62 ;     Chateau 

of.  57.  59.  64;    Family  of, 

58;    Hotel   du    Havre,    59; 

Towers    of,    64;     William 

de,  60 
Tarascon,  383,  384,  385,  386; 

Hotel    des    Empereurs, 

^385. 

Taureau,     Chateau     of,     191. 

Temple     to     Augustus     and 

Livia   (Vienne),  373. 
Thibaut  HI.,  350,  365. 
Tonquedec,  192. 
Toulon,  380. 
Touques,    241,    258;    Manoir 

de  Meautrix,  241. 
Touques  River,  241. 
Tour    de     Beurre     (Rouen), 

151. 
Tour     d'Evrault      (F  o  n  t  e- 

vrault),  347. 


Tour  de  THorloge  (Aix), 
387. 

Tour  de  la  Grosse-Horloge 
(Rouen),  150,  159,  161. 

Tour  de  St.  Martin  (Chinon), 
351. 

Tour  du  Serment,  241. 

Tour  Marguerite  (Argentan), 
311. 

"Tour  Ronde"  (Loches), 
366. 

Tour  St.  Antoine  (Loches), 
368. 

Tours,  359,  360,  361,  363; 
Comte  de,  365;  Hotel  de 
rUnivers,  359,  371 ;  Hotel 
de     la     Boule     d'Or,     359. 

Tower  of  Frangois  I. 
(Havre),  15,  16. 

Treaty  of  Utrecht,  381. 

Trouville,  239,  240,  241,  257, 
258,  260,  262,  266,  268,  269, 
270,  271,  276,  277,  305,  328, 
330 ;  Hotel  de  Bellevue, 
242;  Hotel  de  Paris,  242; 
Hotel  des  Roches  Noires, 
242;  Rue  des  Rosiers, 
242. 

Turner,  175. 

Uzes,  385;  Chateau  de  la 
Duche,  385;  Due  de,  385; 
Hotel  Ferdinand  Bechard, 
385. 

"  Vadicassess,"    The,   334. 

Vaison,  383;  Hotel  de  ^a 
Commerce,  383. 

Valasse,  Abbey  of  (Lille- 
bonne),  54. 

Valence,  374,  378,  379;  Hotel 
du  Louvre  et  de  la  Po«te, 

379- 
Vallee  Ancourt,  229. 
Vallee  de  la  Salle,  404. 
Valmont,    99,    100;     ChapeUe 

de   la   Vierge,    103;    Hotel 

du  Commerce,  103. 


417 


Index 


Varengevillc,     231 ;      Manoir 

d'Ango,  231,  232. 
Vaux-Praslin,     Chateau     of, 

404. 
Veneur,  303. 
Vemet,  Horace,  201. 
Vemeuil,   275. 
Versailles,  259,  280,  282,  348, 

393. 

Veynes,  388. 

Vieille  Garde,  394. 

Vienne,  373,  374,  375;  Hotel 
du  Nord,  373 ;  L' Aiguille, 
373 ;  St.  Maurice  Cathe- 
dral, 373;  Temple  to  Au- 
gustus and  Livia,  373. 

Vienne  River,  353. 


Villers,  204. 

Viollet-le-Duc,  201,  368. 
Voltaire,  353. 

William   (Longue  Epee),  86. 

William  the  Conqueror,  44, 
52,  58,  60,  7z,  85,  107,  no, 
121,  136,  141,  149,  167,  168, 
169,  180,  188,  229,  241,  294, 
315,  317,  318,  324,  334. 

William  Rufus,  168,  241,  275. 

Warwick,  Earl  of,  14. 

Warwick,  Gen.,   122. 

Yvetot,  97,  99,  107,  109,  no; 
Hotel  des  Victoires,  no; 
Kings  of,  72;   Richard,  108. 


418 


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